


let our hearts bleed ('til they turn to rust)

by whisperingwind



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Back injury, Closeted, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperingwind/pseuds/whisperingwind
Summary: After two weeks of confidentiality, a statement regarding singer Harry Styles' health scare has been released. As confirmed by one of Harry Styles' representatives via the official One Direction Facebook page, the young One Direction frontman has suffered an intense back injury and during this time, the band will not be continuing with their promotional commitments until Styles has recovered and received permission to do so from his physician. The twenty three year old singer underwent an elective surgery early last week and was discharged from the hospital Saturday morning. His representative wrote: 'Harry is currently doing well and recovering with the guidance of his loved ones, but at this time, he and his bandmates ask for privacy'. It is unknown when Styles will return to engage in his band's obligations.Or, Harry critically injures himself, the media callously compete to earn profit off the scandalous exclusive, and Louis is there to comfort him through the intense and staggering calamity.





	let our hearts bleed ('til they turn to rust)

**Author's Note:**

> over the past few weeks, i extensively researched the topic of spinal injuries. with that said, i used multiple resources from specialty hospitals around the united states as well as online forums where those with current or previous spinal injuries gave advice to one another.
> 
> please note that no two spinal injuries are alike, and therefore harry's injury and experiences may not be similar to what you, a friend, or a family member have experienced. i apologize for any medical inconsistencies or inaccuracies, though i tried my hardest to make it as realistic as possible.
> 
> title taken from "the way i are (dance with somebody)" by bebe rexha.

They should have told them it was slippery. They should have told them to take each step slowly and with ease. They should have taken care of the fucking problem before it ever became one.

Cameramen who have zero respect for them flash their cameras, robbing them of clear vision. They shout questions and actions at them, a few containing profanities, only proving to disorientate the boys of One Direction further.

Louis is the first one to walk down the vast flight of stairs outside of NBC studios. He nearly slips on one of the steps as it’s covered with a thin, undetectable layer of black ice, only barely catching himself on the railing. He uses the iron bar as a guide to keep himself steady and vertical as he treads the rest of the stairs.

He walks over to one of their guards. “You’re gonna want to tell someone to get some salt or something on that stairwell. It’s really slippery,” he says. “Can you phone it into one of the other guards so the boys don’t hurt themselves?”

“Sure thing, Louis.” The guard unlatches his walkie-talkie from his belt, speaking into it with explicit instructions. Louis waits nearby the car for the other lads.

Harry steps outside a mere two minutes later, dressed in a fitted electric blue suit, his hair tucked impeccably behind his ears. Niall and Liam follow suit behind him. Though the noise coming from the photographers erupts as soon as they lay eyes on Harry - he’s always been a public figure they’ve shown keen interest towards - and Harry, as humble as he is, presents to them a content grin and leisurely wave. “Why are you lot standing in the freezing cold for a couple of measly pictures?” he asks, whimsically. “That’s insane.”

Louis envisions him walking down the steps with poise, or at the very least a bit of caution, conversely he prances down them, arms floating by his sides, not a single sign of worry evident. It would be rather endearing if he wasn’t in danger of injuring himself.

It’s apparent no one explained to him how slick the stairs are, judging by the mixed expression of perplexity and fear spanning his face right as his feet slip out from underneath him. He tumbles down each individual stair, lean body thumping against them repetitively.

A rush of adrenaline races through Louis’s veins, mouth falling agape as he watches his boyfriend helplessly rise and fall over the plunge of the cement staircase. He wants to say something, _anything_ , but he’s forced mute by his own disbelief.

Niall and Liam freeze at the top of the stairs, both of them peering down at him in utter shock. It feels as though it’s happening in slow motion, then Harry, thankfully, comes to an abrupt halt at the bottom.

“Fuck.” Louis croaks, gawking at the sight of his boyfriend lying motionlessly. He knows better than to create a scene in front of all the paparazzi, but, as his boyfriend of six years, he’s obligated to examine Harry’s physical well-being.

While risking a few glances in the direction of their management and public relations teams, more than a few stern, hostile eyes glare back at him, as if ensuring he won’t rush to help Harry to his feet. There’s even a hand firmly placed on his shoulder, squeezing, a persistent reminder of the consequences his actions imperil. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

Meanwhile, Harry groans, sluggishly pushing himself into a sitting position. He appears to be a bit disorientated, understandably, and blinks a few times in opposition to the blinding camera flashes. “I think you’ve got your photos,” he hums, sounding oddly humored, despite embarrassing himself in front of a dozen and a half scumbags. “Just pick a nice one for the tabloids tomorrow, eh lads?”

Liam hustles down the steps first, cautious of the ice their security crew was far too ignorant to remind Harry of, and bends down, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. The back of his suit and hair are drenched, discolored with icy water. “You alright?” he asks, squeezing the material of his bright colored suit between his fingers. “Didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“My dignity hurts a bit,” Harry admits.

“I’d bet,” Liam whispers. “But physically, you’re alright?”

“I think so,” Harry mumbles, running his hand through his hair. Not only is there traces of water and small pieces of ice lodged in his hair, but mud and leaves have tangled themselves in the unruly strands as well, evident from the dirt bedded underneath his fingernails when he pulls his hand out of his hair.

“Alright, that’ll do, that’ll do,” Louis snaps, stepping in front of Harry and Liam, despite the hands attempting to lead him away. “That’ll _fucking_ do lads. How many pictures do you fucking need, you little fucking pricks?”

Louis has faced a lot of bad media exposure in the past and the last thing he needs is yet another social media frenzy, in which they debate what an “entitled asshole” he is. In fact, Harry is so aware of this he begins to reprimand him, “Louis-”

“I think you’ve got your photos," Niall interrupts, walking towards the freelancers with a disgruntled expression. “Quit being disrespectful and sod off.”

Liam offers his hand to Harry, keeping the other positioned on his shoulder. Though as soon as Harry twists his body to accept, a jolt of pain races the length of his spine, and he jerks his head to the side with a sharp hiss, uttering a few profanities under his breath. “What’s the matter?” Liam asks.

“Think I might have pulled something in my back,” he explains, digging the heel of his palm into the lower section of his back. “Feels a bit strange.”

Liam hesitates. “Can you stand?”

The paparazzi refuse to listen to Louis and Niall’s demands, rather they continue to snap pictures as both lads scold them for having no respect or self-worth.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry assures. “Perfectly fine.” he laughs, reaching back around to take Liam’s hand. He doesn’t want to worry his bandmate, or anyone really, so he forces a passive expression and doesn’t make a sound as he rises to his feet, even though his lips quiver with the urge to scream out wounded moans and curse words. “See, I’m all good.” he says after standing.

“Good, but you tattered your suit, sunshine,” Liam pulls the silk suit jacket towards himself, revealing the large, uneven hole to Harry.

Harry sighs because, well, he quite likes this suit and was planning to wear it again in the near future, which he doesn’t often do. “This night just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” he mutters, rolling his shoulders back in attempt to rid the ache expanding in his back.

Liam notices. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“Alright,” Liam squeezes his shoulder for a final time, then the two of them are led to and ushered inside a sizable black SUV. Louis and Niall follow shortly after, and presumably, considering the frustrated glower located deep in Louis’s eyes, he’s been told off for being vocal, yet again.

Despite appearing vexed, Louis’s voice is tender when he asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Harry says.

The four of them are silent for the remainder of the car ride. Their driver pulls in the back parking lot of an immense and exorbitant hotel, then allows for them to climb out before driving off and disappearing around the corner.

They go their separate ways inside. After the elevator dings, halting on the fourth floor, they step out and find their designated rooms. Liam and Niall each have their own room, both of which are on opposing sides - Liam’s to the right and Niall’s to the left - of Harry and Louis’s shared room.

“Are you sure you’re okay? It looked like it hurt quite a bit,” Louis says as he peels his navy blue blazer off, absentmindedly tossing it to the floor.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Harry answers, sitting on the edge of their bed. He takes his shoes off first, neatly tucking them next to the bedside table. “Hey Louis?”

Louis stops in the midst of sliding his navy slacks off, tilting his head up to gaze at Harry. “Yeah?”

“Was it funny?” Harry asks, curiously.

“You mean your fall?” Louis guesses, arching an eyebrow. After a brief moment of pondering Harry’s question, he continues, chuckling, “Yeah, it was pretty funny. Who knows, maybe they caught live footage of it. We’ll have a good laugh about it in the morning.”

“I hope so,” Harry says.

 

 

 

Louis wakes the next morning to his alarm blaring _“Mr. Brightside”_ by The Killers. As generic and recognized as the song is, he can never skip over listening to it. He enjoys it far too much.

It’s only 6:40, but he needs the extra twenty minutes before Harry stirs awake to take a long shower in peace, without having him complain about the water mildly shifting in temperature - from hot to lukewarm, if that - when he saunters into the bathroom twenty minutes later.

He glances over his shoulder, studying Harry’s relaxed form. He smiles to himself. Harry appears to be in a deep sleep, his chest rising and falling in steady waves, and hushed snores depart his nose.

Louis despises seven o’clock. It means he has to wake Harry, disturbing him from his well-deserved slumber. Though at least this morning the younger boy has twenty more minutes to savor his sweet dreams.

He walks into the bathroom, stripping himself of his boxers. His shower extends from its planned twenty minutes to over thirty three, but he figures it’s alright, they don’t have anywhere to be for another two and a half hours.

He steps back into the hotel room, towel drawn around his waist, tied off to the side in a firm knot. Walking to Harry’s side of the bed, he stops for a moment, beaming at his boyfriend as he sleeps. His eyelashes lay gracefully against his cheekbones and his lush lips pucker slightly. Even his snores are endearing and Louis has yet to figure out how one person can do everything, even things meant to be annoying, so enticingly.

He touches the younger boy’s shoulder, gently shaking him awake. “Time to get up, love. I tried to leave you a little hot water.”

Harry stirs, eyelids fluttering open. A fond smile crosses his lips. “Thanks,” he croaks, voice low and rough, laced with exhaustion.

“Not a problem, my love, and there’s no rush. We have more time than I anticipated,” Louis kisses his forehead, then steps back. “I’m gonna pull on a pair of sweats, then I gotta run down to Lottie’s room for a little bit.”

His little sister, Lottie, and her boyfriend have tagged along on One Direction’s tour for the last few months. Given Lottie is in training to be a cosmetologist, she’s been granted the chance to gain a fair amount knowledge and experience from the boys’ makeup artist and hairdresser. Not to mention, it’s a rare opportunity for an eighteen year old girl and her boyfriend to travel the world for no expense whatsoever. Although, Louis knows the principal reason she tags along is because he pleads for her to be there, not in an overly needy manner, rather he guilts her into joining him, as siblings do. He craves the familiarity

“Alright. I’ll try to be ready by the time you get back, maybe we can get breakfast or something,” Harry suggests, attempting to shake his weariness.

Despite feeling a bit hazy from waking only moments ago, he still has to bite back a crude comment about Louis’s unbelievably tan and muscular physique as the older boy drops the towel from around his waist and scavenges for a pair of sweats in the nude.

Louis finds a pair of Harry’s sweatpants in his luggage and decides to wear them rather than continue to sort through his own belongings. “Sounds good. Someone was saying there’s a nice pancake house around here. I’m sure it’s discrete enough.” The sweatpants are rather long and baggy on his short and sturdy build, but he rolls the bottom hems a few times and they’re as good - considerably better - as his own. “Alright, love. I’ll be back in a little while.”

His dismissal is followed by a quiet click of the door as it shuts. Harry lies there for a moment, wondering how he became so lucky. Not only does he have fame and fortune, but he has someone who loves him unconditionally and who he, himself, would give away his reputation and wealth, everything really, for.

He starts to push himself into a sitting position, but a stitch of pain explodes across his back, and he collapses onto the bed. It takes him only a second or two to realize he hardly moved at all. He lifted one arm slightly, very slightly, perhaps only a few inches or so, and it caused his entire back to contract into several large, uncomfortable bouts of spasms.

He should have figured his tumble last night was going to have some repercussions, leaving him achy and bruised, maybe experiencing some slight pain. Though he certainly didn’t expect for his back to exhibit such excruciating pain.

“Fuck me,” He curses.

He debates lying there until Louis comes back. Louis knows what to do every time his body gives him trouble, calm and tender when he asks questions, boils tea and sorts through luggage until he finds the proper pain reducing pill, all without complaint. He has astonishing bedside manner.

On the other hand, he doesn’t want to bother him. Harry always feels bothersome, regularly asking Louis for favors, and his boyfriend doesn’t need anymore of that for a while. Everyone expects a lot out of the lad as it is, constantly demanding more and more from him, and Harry does not want to be the person who puts him over the edge.

If it’s not himself asking Louis for a favor, then it’s Liam and Niall, and if it’s not Liam and Niall, then it’s the Tomlinson family, and if it’s not the Tomlinson family then it’s…

It’s an infinite loop, really, and Harry hasn’t a clue how Louis manages to keep it all straight. He’s the strongest person Harry has ever met and he holds him in such high regards for it.

“One more time,” He tells himself. Perhaps it’s a pain he needs to conquer first, and after it’ll gradually diminish into a dull throb. Then he can move on with his morning routine as though nothing had ever pestered him.

Except when he tries again, it’s a pain far worse than before. In fact it’s such a sharp and unforgivable pain that he nearly loses his dinner from last night, and he doesn’t know how well Teriyaki sauce washes out of white linen sheets - presumably not too easily.

Thankfully, he’s able to calm himself down from doing so, otherwise he would be lying in his own bodily substance, which is the last thing he would like to be doing on a Sunday morning, the holiest segment of the week.

“Okay, okay, _fuck!_ ” he shouts through gritted teeth without being able to control himself. Tears begin to prickle the corners of his eyes. He’s convinced he’s pulled something more by inflicting extensive pressure on his back. “Oh god.” he breathes out, tears sliding down his cheeks, unintentionally.

God, he didn’t even realize he was crying. He doesn’t know the last time he was in this much pain, hell, he doesn’t know if he’s ever experienced intense, grueling pain even remotely close to this.

“Phone, phone, phone,” he says under his breath, trying to keep his thoughts straight. He’s afraid if he doesn’t say his thoughts aloud, the pain might take over and swallow him whole.

He genuinely hadn’t planned on interrupting Louis, deciding to bear with the discomfort and wait for him to return, distinctly understanding he’s trying to appreciate quality time with his sister, but Harry quite seriously can’t get out of bed.

When he cranes, or rather attempts to crane his neck to scour the hotel room for his phone duplicate pain yanks at his spinal cord, forcing him still, and a sob expels out of him, “Fuck.”

It’s frustrating considering he knows his phone is laying on the nightstand beside him, only a foot or so away. Despite his ability to physically see it, he can envision the mobile device in his mind, screen face down, and rose gold color contrasting against the dark mahogany dresser.

Last night after peeling his suit off and carefully folding it over one of his suitcases, he had checked his phone, replied to a few text messages, and sent a routinely thank you tweet out to their fans. Louis called him to bed, whining about how cold and lonely it was without him, and Harry did exactly as he was prompted, setting his phone down on the side table and climbing into bed with the love of his life for an exceptional night’s sleep.

Little did he know, he wouldn’t be able to move come morning.

He doesn’t even know what time it is, though he does mistakenly attempt to quickly peer at the alarm clock, which establishes a new horrendous sensation, one which has him feeling as though his spinal cord has been severed in two. Or, what he believes it would feel like to have his spinal cord snapped in two.

Tears pour down his face, rolling off his cheeks. At this point, it seems as though Louis has been gone for two hours, when in reality it's doubtlessly been nothing over fifteen minutes.

The room has become brighter with the assistance of the rising sunlight, beaming through the center space of two curtains, where they would otherwise touch. He would love to see the colors twined in the sky, there must be hues of orange and yellow, maybe even a splash of pink, a smudge of violet.

Why has he ever taken sunrises for granted? He wishes he could contemplate it now.

He blinks a few times as he shifts his focus up to the ceiling, provoking additional tears to streak his flushed face.

The universe is punishing him. He’s done something wrong. It must have been something he said or did. If not in this life, then surely in another.

There’s a moment where he debates shouting until one of the other lads or someone from their team hears him, but he doesn’t want to impose more strain on his body or seem wholly impotent.

He shuts his eyes, humming a random tune under his breath. Louis shouldn’t be much longer, he tells himself, he’ll be back any moment. He tries to fall back asleep, but he’s in too much pain to do so, and instead counts to one hundred, back down to one again, then proceeds to sing to himself, seeking to regain a sense of composure.

An increasingly disheartening bout of time passes, then Louis _finally_ roams back into their hotel room, but comes to a sudden halt, footsteps no longer shuffling against the carpet. “You’re still not up? I thought we were going for breakfast. It’s been an hour, love.”

Harry feels sick to his stomach. An hour, a whole hour of his life wasted by helplessly lying on a dirty hotel room mattress, and now he can’t form the words to explain himself to Louis, to say the words “I need help”.

“Well, if you’re not gonna go, then I’ll just go with Lottie and Tommy. I invited them along,” Louis says, a hint of annoyance laced in his silvery tone. If it wasn’t Harry he was talking to right now, then he would be scoffing and swearing every other word - he’s never struggled with his candid manner of speaking. Harry doesn’t say anything, which seems to aggravate him. “I guess I’ll see you later then? You’ve got about an hour and a half to get downstairs, then I’ll have to meet you at ABC studios.”

Harry tries to explain himself. Every time he opens his mouth to defend himself, nothing comes out, not even a sound.

“You know I love you, but this is starting to get a bit ridiculous, Harry.” Louis is a few feet out of Harry’s line of sight, but Harry can imagine his stature. Arms crossed over his chest, all of his weight distributed to one robust leg, and bold eyebrows hiked halfway up his forehead, prepared to challenge him. “Everyone’s tired, but you can’t just sleep all day. We’re almost done with the promotional tour, I get it, but you have to be responsible. If you don’t show up on time, then I have to hear about. It all falls back on- Harry, are you even listening to me?”

Harry finds the will to speak as well as the strength to produce words. “Lou-” he pleas, choking on his own voice as terrified sobs hastily bubble in his throat and fall from his mouth. His chest tightens and his heartbeat obscures his ability to hear, rushing to his ears and resounding against his eardrums.

“Harry I-” Louis starts to say, annoyance dissolving instantly. His defensive stature falls, arms dropping down to his sides, and his weight becomes evenly dispersed between both legs. “Was it something I said? Harry?”

Harry tries to tell him no, but inconsistent wheezes and wails are the few noises he _can_ produce. He's twenty three years old, and can't form the words to explain a dire situation to his boyfriend.

Louis’s eyes grow wide. Something's wrong, something's really fucking wrong, and the coordination between his brain and feet isn't functioning fast enough. His stomach is in knots. In the seven years he's known Harry, he has never seen him breakdown, not like this.

His feet follow his brain’s demands, finally, and tread with urgency over to Harry. He drops to his knees beside the bed. “H,” he whispers, hand hesitating above Harry’s head. What if he doesn't want to be touched? He favors his instinct and brushes Harry’s hair away from his face, carding his fingers through the dampened strands. “Love, Harry, it's okay. What's wrong? Shh, calm down, it’s okay. You've gotta tell me what's going on.”

Harry tries to talk, again, but sputters over his frazzled words, unable to create a comprehensible sentence for Louis.

“Shh, Harry. Harry, love, you've gotta breathe for me. Can you do that? Can you breathe with me baby?” Louis asks, voice quiet. Harry doesn't say anything. Louis assumes he’s listening anyways. “Breathe in with me. Listen, a nice big breath, darling.” He does it himself, exaggerating the sound of his sharp inhale, hoping Harry will follow suit. Harry tries, sputters over it a bit, but still tries and that's all that matters to Louis. “That's it, sweetheart. How about out? Can you breathe out? Here, listen.” He conducts a breath, similar to the inhale, emphasizing the exhale. Harry tries to execute the same breathing pattern, studying Louis’s lips.

It’s a few minutes before Louis has Harry steady, in rhythm, controlling his breathing. “There we go. Now, will you please tell me what's going on?”

Harry sniffles. He's unable to wipe his face due to the scorching pain waiting to ensue. “My…” He sharply inhales, expels a deep exhale.

Louis kisses his temple, words mumbled by peachy flesh and coarse brunet hair, “Relax Harry, it's okay. Tell me what's wrong.”

“My back,” Harry squeaks.

“Your back?” Louis asks, bewildered, shifting to observe Harry’s stiff silhouette. “What's wrong with your back?”

“Can't…” More tears start to gather in his eyes, smearing across his cheeks when he blinks. “Can't move. Hurts.”

“What do you mean you can't move?” Louis asks, rising from the floor. For once, he towers over Harry. “What if I help you sit up?”

“I-I mean I can't move,” Harry whispers, watching Louis closely. “I tried to…” He unwisely attempts to turn his head, but agony crushes his spinal cord, withholding him from doing so. He winces, stifling a quiet cry, “...to get up, but it hurts. Can't even move my neck.”

Louis rubs his forehead. “I need to call for an ambulance, Harry. I know you probably don't want me to, but-”

“Call,” Harry interrupts. “Please, I...I’m in so much...so much fucking pain. Just call.”

Louis swallows, reaching for Harry’s phone on the nightstand. He plugs in his passcode - 1291 - then dials 911. He's never had to call any kind of service like this. It feels very foreign and strange.

He talks to the operator for a few minutes while she sets paramedics en route.

Ten minutes later he’s greeted by a woman and two men who presumably are in a similar age bracket. Mid-twenties, most likely. “Hi there. I’m Michelle, and these are my partners, Jacob and Jeff.” The woman explains, offering her hand to Louis. “You are?”

“Louis,” he says, swiftly shaking her hand. “This is my b- my friend, Harry. He’s having really bad back pain.”

Her partner, Louis doesn’t remember if it’s Jacob or Jeff, has moved closer to Harry, leaning down as he talks to him. “Okay Harry, tell me, can you feel your fingers?”

“Yeah.”

Louis takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest as he observes the medics speaking with Harry. He forces a smile when Harry glances towards him, appearing defenseless.

“That's good, that's really good, Harry. My name is Jacob and I’m going to make sure everything is in order,” Jacob says as he reaches into his belt, retrieving a rectangular device, which Louis believes is a thermometer. “I have to take your vitals, but before I do, can you wiggle your fingers for me?”

Harry does as prompted, keeping his eyes on Louis. Louis gives him a thumbs up.

“Perfect. Now, how about tingling? Any tingling, Harry?”

“A little,” Harry moves his fingers again. “Just in the tips.”

“Okay, nothing to worry about, bud,” They go through the same sets of questions regarding his toes, and all his answers are the same, except he doesn't feel tingling in them.

As Jacob takes Harry’s vitals - his temperature, blood pressure, pulse, and respiration rate - his partner pages Harry’s statuses to a receptionist at the hospital.

“Alright, so here's what we're gonna do. We've gotta immobilize you, but it's not as bad as it sounds. We’ll get a cervical collar on you, then we’re gonna slide you on the backboard. From there you’ll be strapped down, and then it’ll be an easy ride for you. Your pal can come too, if you want.”

“Okay, can, uh, can Louis be over here while you…” Harry doesn't know what the proper words to use are. He stops himself, hoping the medic will understand.

“Sure, bud,” He looks over his shoulder at Louis. “Sir, your friend would like for you to be near while we immobilize him. I’ll be right back. I’ve gotta grab the cervical collar and the backboard.”

Louis doesn’t hesitate for a moment. He walks closer to Harry, then leans against the nightstand. In all honesty, he’s afraid to touch him, afraid of hurting him worse, or being the cause of something going wrong. “You doing okay?” he asks.

“I’m a little scared,” Harry admits, sheepishly smiling.

Louis touches his cheek, although it’s more of a graze, skin barely touches skin. He doesn’t want to accidentally cause Harry strain. “I know you are, but you’re doing great. You’re so brave.”

“Brave?” Harry tests the word, seemingly shocked by Louis’s word choice. “Don’t know if I consider this an act of bravery, Lou.”

“Sure it is. Not everyone could be so calm about this.”

Jacob returns with the neck brace and the other medic, Jeff, follows behind him as well. “Alright sir if we could have you step aside,” he says, gesturing for Louis to move out of the way. “Okay, Harry. Jeff’s gonna lift your head up, so I can slide the collar under your neck.”

As soon as Jeff lifts his head off the mattress, the pain returns, crushing his spine, and an accidental, guttural cry climbs up his throat and jumps out of his mouth. Both medics stop for a moment. “I know it hurts, but I’ve got to bring you up a little higher, is that alright?” Jeff asks, though rhetorical.

Louis slaps his hand over his mouth to control himself from snapping at the paramedics. It’s not their fault Harry is in pain, he knows, but still, witnessing Harry suffer is dreadful.  

Jeff hikes Harry’s head up a bit higher, and a similar noise, a deep cry, breaks through Harry, though he tries to conceal it, clamping his teeth down on his bottom lip. He’s crying, again, the sunlight catches his tears at an angle where they glisten.

Jacob is brisk to set the brace underneath him and pull it around his throat, so Jeff can set his head down, but the process isn’t exactly the painless, or pleasant to listen to.

“Can’t you give him pain medicine or something?” Louis blurts. He can’t begin to envision how severe the pain will be when they have to relocate Harry onto the backboard, and he doesn’t know if he can stay in the room for it. “I’m sorry. I know you’re doing your job as best you can, but he’s obviously in a lot of pain. Isn’t there something more you can do?”

Jacob adjusts the chin section of the cervical collar, tightening it significantly to stall Harry from moving his head, and once it fits snug, he fastens the hook-and-loops.

“We’re not allowed to administer anything without direct approval,” Jeff explains, maintaining eye contact with Louis as he speaks to him. “Michelle is trying to call for an ER doctor, but if we can’t get their approval, he’ll have to go without.”

Michelle announces. “Every doctor is currently busy. Let’s just load the patient on the backboard, and go from there.”

Louis believes what he has to watch is one of the worst things he’s ever seen. Harry’s tries his hardest to refrain from producing noise, involuntarily clenching all of his muscles, as the three medics guide him onto his side and slide the backboard under him.  

Once he’s laying flat again, he starts crying, though silently. Louis’s heart still breaks for him, and the medics allow him closer for a moment while they find the proper restraints to keep Harry still. “Shh, it’s okay. I know it hurts babes, I know, but you’re doing so good,” he whispers, running his hand through Harry’s hair. “You’re so strong, love, so strong.”

One of the restraints forms the shape of a ‘y’. It's one long strap that extends vertically on Harry. The branches of the ‘y’ stretch over his shoulders, locking him in. There are also five alternative straps that cross his body horizontally, coercing him still.

His eyes search for Louis’s and upon finding them his pupils dilate slightly. “I love you,” he whispers.

Right then, Louis forgets about the promise to their label to stay closeted. Harry’s well being and comfort mean far more to him than fame and fortune. He utters the words, “I love you too. I'll be with you the whole way.”

Once the backboard is loaded on the gurney, the medics guide the mechanism out of the hotel room and down the hallway. Harry clenches his eyes shut as the gurney’s rickety motions occasionally send a dig of pain through his back.

Louis, following behind the medics, notices the plethora of people stood in the hallway, most of them having a connection to the brand One Direction, but a few stragglers are curious hotel guests.

Niall and Liam are among the people standing out in the hallway, profoundly confused. A hand on Louis’s shoulder causes him to stop. When he looks over his shoulder, Liam’s concerned, sincere eyes stare back at him. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Louis replies. He shakes his head, internal turmoil propelling him into a panic. “He was- he’s in so much pain, and I don’t...I don’t know.”

“Should we meet you at the hospital?” Niall asks.

Louis stares at them. “I don’t know,” He doesn’t have the answers for once, and his expected sense of tranquility has vanished. “But I have to go. I have to be with him.”

Before either one of the lads can offer a word of comfort, Louis walks away, quickening his pace to walk in close proximity to the gurney.

They’re drawing in a lot of attention from inquisitive spectators. Harry hates attention pertaining to anything other than his artistry, but it doesn’t seem he’s presently aware of the mass scrutiny.

It’s an elevator ride which doesn’t progress fast enough. Louis sparingly glances at Harry, being as viewing him, restrained in such a crucial manner, fills his mind with horrendous scenarios, though he doesn’t know how credible they truly are.

Watching the medics as they struggle to precisely position the gurney and raise it into the ambulance is awful, considering the force they have to use in order to do so induces several abrupt, jarring movements, which do not alleviate the high degree of Harry’s pain in the slightest. He closes his lips on a groan, eyes rolling back slightly. Louis wants to wrap him up in a cuddle and tell him it’s going to be okay, but he can’t, for plenty of reasons, none of them well executed enough for his guilt to wash away.

He sits on a bench in the ambulance while Jacob checks Harry’s vital signs again, then proceeds to ask the same exact questions from earlier.

Can you feel your fingers? _Yes_.

Your toes? _Yes_.

Wiggle them for me Harry. _He does._

Any tingling? _In my fingers._

Louis never realized how loud ambulance sirens are. He supposes he never cared enough to pay attention. After all, any time an ambulance has been in his vicinity, it’s been for only a handful of seconds as it zoomed past him on the road.

He’s never felt socially inept either, but at this time, he hasn’t a clue what to say. Though, he doubts Harry has taken notice.

The younger boy’s mundanely gentle features are pulled taut, pain evident on every line of his face. His lips clamp together, nose scrunched upward, and his eyes narrow slits as they remain clenched.

“The doctor will be able to administer pain medication once we’re on site,” Michelle explains. “It’ll help take the edge off while they run tests.”

“How serious is this?” Louis asks.

Michelle weakly smiles. “I’m not in a position to say, I’m sorry.”

The ambulance halts. Nothing happens for about a minute or so, then the back doors creak open, the light from outside shines in on the interior.

“Louis, if we could have you step out,” Jacob directs. Louis does so, standing out of the way, arms crossed over his chest as he observes them unload Harry. All three of them are needed to discharge Harry from the ambulance as they’re taking the weight of a grown man, with the addition of medical equipment, out of a vehicle on a steep angle.

Michelle and Jacob push Harry into the emergency room entrance of the hospital where more medical personnel are waiting.

“You probably haven’t been through this a lot of times, am I right?” Jeff asks, moving to stand near Louis after shutting the ambulance doors.  

Louis is struggling to believe that this is genuinely happening. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, “I never have.”

“Okay, not a problem,” Jeff places a hand on Louis’s back, then says, “Walk with me and I’ll explain what happens from here.”

By the time they walk inside, Harry and the medical personnel have vanished, presumably rushing him back to run tests. While Louis doesn’t have much knowledge regarding medical facilities and care, he knows potential spinal injuries are often given priority.

Before he can utter the question concerning Harry’s location, Jeff says, “They took him to a portion of the hospital where they’ll evaluate him and run tests, and from there he may be admitted as a patient,” The two of them walk down a hallway until they’re introduced to a lobby. “For now, we ask that you sit here and contact whoever needs to be contacted. A doctor will be out to speak with you as soon as they have an idea of what’s going on. It was a pleasure meeting you, Louis, and best of luck to you and Harry.”

Then he’s by himself, all alone, without a single familiar face. With a steady glance around the hospital lobby, he finds there to be a variation of people, ranging between young and old, male and female, and ethnicity. Very few are actually smiling, rather most are solemn, attention buried in their phones or magazines.

It’s an odd silence filling the room. A broken, heart-wrenching silence. Not many words are exchanged, instead the rustling of turning a page and accidental phone beeps ensue.

He’s not an overly uncomfortable person, but this scenario has him feeling out of place. He takes a seat in the far corner, partly because of discomfort, and partly to keep his identity concealed from those who are potentially fans.

There’s a few children running about and he can’t help but wonder how much they sincerely comprehend. Is it their mummy or daddy behind those immense stainless steel doors? A grandparent? A friend?

Yet, they don’t have a clear understanding of the tragedies occurring every moment beyond their own imaginations, for they wouldn’t be as animated and elated. But kids don’t have foul intentions, they’re not developed enough to understand basic concepts as seen with his youngest siblings, Doris and Ernest. The twins don’t have understanding of anything outside of Peppa the Pig and sweets.

Liam calls him. His ringer blares, echoing of the walls, and he rushes to switch his ringer off before too many antagonizing stares are directed his way. “Hello?” he answers, voice low, attempting to refrain from bothering anyone.

“I’ve got Lottie and Tommy with me. Niall’s here too. Should we come to the hospital?” Liam asks.

“If you want.”

“Well, what’s going on? Are you with him?” Liam’s phone is evidently away from his ear. Louis figures he currently has him on speaker and his voice is being broadcasted to quite a few people aside from those mentioned, which he doesn’t appreciate. He hates when the label is involved in his personal business.

“Not a clue. I have to wait for a doctor to come out, and I don’t know when that’ll be,” Louis explains. He refuses to inform a group of people about Harry’s condition when the lot of them don’t care about Harry’s comfort or health on a routinely basis. “I’ve gotta ring Anne, so if you want to come, then come, but I don’t want everyone here. Lottie, Tommy, Niall, you, and that’s it.”

He doesn’t give Liam the opportunity to reply, cancelling the call as soon as the words are out of his mouth. After, he searches for Anne’s number in his contacts and rings her. The situation is a bit difficult to explain to her as Harry is her _son_ and he doesn’t have distinct information to tell her regarding his condition, but she listens thoroughly and surprises him by remaining rather calm. She cries a bit out of frustration, but swiftly composes herself, notifying Louis of her booked flight to New York.

They hang up, he sets his phone onto the empty chair beside him, and buries his face into his hands. A couple minutes later, a woman’s piercing cry explodes from the opposite side of the lobby. He flinches, jerking his hands away from his face, and peers around in bewilderment.

She collapses onto the tiled floor and an older woman, presumably her mother, perhaps her mother-in-law, places a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. A doctor is stood by her hysterical, trembling form, clipboard drawn to his chest and his eyes downcast. His solemn facial expression presents a clear explanation - he’s giving his condolences to her.

Louis pulls his focus away from the distraught woman. He doesn’t know her personally, though he still tries to sympathize with her, feeling increasingly sorry for her as minutes tick away. Eventually her family members are able to assist her to her feet and she’s feebly led out of the lobby.

In the midst of waiting for news on Harry, Lottie, Tommy, Niall, and Liam walk through the throng of chairs and people in the lobby, excusing themselves as they accidentally bump into a few legs, and sit down around him. Although, not without the inclusion of two representatives from their label.

He pays them no attention.

“Have you heard anything?” Lottie asks. She sits beside him, big, hopeful blue eyes searching his face for a answer.

Louis shakes his head. “Not yet, Lotts.”

She sighs, laying her head against his shoulder as a means of comfort, for both him and herself. An uncomfortable silence encases the entire group, and they become like all the other disheartened faces in the lobby, faces buried in their phones.

Except for Louis. He keeps his eyes on the doors leading back to the hospital rooms.

An hour and a half passes before a middle-aged woman dressed in a long, white lab coat and mint green scrubs steps out of the doors. Her dark hair is pulled off her face in a sleek ponytail and she wears a pair of thick rectangular frames on her nose. “For Harry Styles?” she asks.

A few heads snap around to look at her, recognizing the household name instantaneously. Louis hopes no one acts on their impulses. A hospital is the last place for a spontaneous meet and greet session.

Louis raises his hand. A docile smile crosses the doctor’s lips and she strides over to them. Her steps carry determination and confidence. “Hello, I’m Dr. Francis, how are you?” she asks, offering her hand to each and every one of them, even the representatives. “I see Harry has quite a fan club going.”

“You don’t even know,” Niall says.

Louis glances at the cordial doctor. He appreciates her charisma, but he’s far more concerned with Harry, rather than striking conversation with her. “We’re fine, how’s Harry?”

“Am I right to assume you’re Louis?” Dr. Francis guesses.

Louis nods. “Yeah.”

“Wonderful,” she says, no maliciousness evident in her tone. “He’s been asking for you for quite a while. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.”

Louis tries not to assume anything, even if he does believe she has a lot of information to share with them, determined by the seat she takes across from him and the way she shuffles through her papers.

“I’ve already spoken to Harry about his injury, so he’s well informed,” she explains, “but I believe it’s only fair to explain the severity of his injury to you before you see him.”

Louis decides he doesn’t like the words _severity_ and _injury_ being close together in a sentence, they’re too close for comfort, given the sentence is describing his boyfriend. “Oh?” He blurts, voice raising in pitch.

Lottie reaches for his hand, intertwining their fingers, squeezing.

“I ran X-rays as well as a CT scan. Here, I have an X-ray of his spinal cord,” she continues to say, pulling the black and white imagery from her clipboard. She lays it on top of the other informational papers to present it to them. “Harry told me he slipped on ice and fell down some stairs yesterday, and it seems that from the impact of the fall he’s fractured one of his vertebrae. We call this a compression fracture,” she traces an area of the X-ray with her pointer finger, showing where the vertebrae appears crushed in comparison to the ones binding it. She then withdraws a human anatomical diagram out of her stack of papers. “It’s a T11 fracture, which means it’s located in the thoracic region of his back. Which is right," she draws a circle around the lower middle portion of the cartoon man's back with her finger, "around here."

Louis stares at the diagram, then at the doctor. “How serious is it?”

“Compression fractures range in severity, depending on where and how they come about." She places the X-ray on top of the diagram, again. "In Harry’s case it is more serious because it was caused by trauma rather than by a disease like for example... _osteoporosis_. Along with the compression fracture, he’s experienced quite a bit of strain on the ligaments surrounding the vertebrae.”

“How do you go about treating it then?” Louis asks, studying the doctor’s hands as she shuffles the X-ray and diagram back into her pile of papers.

Dr. Francis sighs. “Unfortunately, we’ll have to perform surgery.”

“What?” Louis remarks, eyes widening in disbelief. “Like- like actual surgery?”

“Actual surgery," Dr. Francis confirms. "Usually, compression fractures don’t require surgery because they’re not as severe as say a burst fracture, instead they usually heal on their own with bed rest and ice compresses, but in Harry’s case, it’s going to be necessary," she shifts in the plastic chair, crossing her ankles, one white tennis shoe over the other. “His is severe because the back of his vertebral body is protruding past his spinal canal and beginning to put pressure on his spinal cord. If we don’t perform a surgery than there will be more nerve damage and a possibility of paralysis. Compression fractures often cause a more mild, uncomfortable sensation. The neural damage explains why he was experiencing such intense pain this morning.”

Louis risks a glance at Niall and Liam who are as floored as he is by this revelation.

He dares to ask. “What kind of time frame are we looking at? I mean recovery time and everything,” The thought of Harry breaking his back and suffering makes him feel nauseous.

“I’ve scheduled the surgery for early tomorrow morning, around eight or so. We want to move as quickly as possible before long-term damage sets in. Fixing a compression fracture is typically an outpatient procedure, but we’re dealing with neural complications. I have to perform a more intense surgery, which means he’ll have to be admitted for a few days," she hesitates, "At that point I'll evaluate him again, but he's most likely going to be fitted for a back brace, and there will be an extensive recovery time.”

“A brace?” Louis asks, dumbfounded. "You mean-"

“We’ll talk about it when the time comes,” she stands, sticking the clipboard under her arm. “I can take you back to him, if you'd like." 

“Of course,” Louis says, rising to his feet. He turns to face his friends, expecting them to do the same.

Niall shakes his head. “We’ll see him later. Don’t rush.”

Louis weakly smiles, then follows the doctor as she leads him through the stainless steel doors and down several long hallways. “We’ll move him to a nicer room after the surgery tomorrow,” she says, then corrects herself, “Actually, he’ll be in the intensive care unit for the first night, but after that we’ll move him to his own private room.”

She stops in front of a room, it’s door open, and with a peek inside, Louis can see Harry lying flat on his back in bed. The TV drones on in the background, the news channel fabricating story after story, each involving a different tragedy. “I’ll leave you to it. Take your time.”

Louis thanks her, then slips into the room. Harry isn’t hooked to any machines, aside from an I.V., administering pain medicine as he needs it. Louis finds comfort in knowing Harry has _something_ to ease the pain away, even if it is a bag of clear liquid and a needle pricked into his hand. “How are you feeling, love?” he asks, sitting down beside the bed.

Harry hardly moves, craning his neck slightly to peek at Louis. “Still hurts if I move too quickly.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Louis meets his eyes. A flash of sadness abruptly crosses him, demanding his attention. He looks down to his lap and pulls at the cotton material of his sweatpants. “I’m really sorry Harry. I- you laid there in pain for so long, and I can’t help but feel-”

“It’s not your fault, Louis,” Harry interrupts. “It’s no one’s fault really.”

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, runs his hand through his hair, shaking it out, as he thinks. “But you’re having back surgery.”

“Very true.”

“How do you feel about that?” Louis asks.

Harry hesitates. “If it’ll make me better, and not physically incapacitated, then I’m fine with it. I’m a bit worried about the recovery, but what else can I really do?”

“You’ll just have to take it easy, and I’ll be there for you the entire time. Whatever you need, I’ll do.”

The television serves as background noise. Graphic stories are shared with the general public by a handful of Caucasian men who both sound and look the same. Though one headline in particular grabs their attention.

_In entertainment news, One Direction frontman Harry Styles has been rushed to the hospital this morning. Though not confirmed yet, it is said drug usage may have played a factor in the young singer’s hospitalization. His condition has not yet been declared. We are still waiting for a representative to speak on his behalf at this time._

Harry swiftly turns his head around. Louis isn't surprised when he hears his sharp inhale and quiet curses in response to the sudden movement.  
  
Louis stands, hands hesitating to console him. He's never been afraid to touch him before, but right now, he doesn't want to risk causing more harm. "Babe, you've got to take it easy. You don't want to put any more strain on your spine."  
  
"I..." Harry chokes on a quiet groan. "I'm not a drug addict."  
  
"Nobody thinks that."  
  
"But the media-"  
  
"Who gives a fuck what the media thinks? You and I both know the truth and that's all that matters. It all comes out in the wash, remember?" He touches Harry's cheek. "Is there a button around here I can push to give you more pain medicine?"  
  
"Right there," Harry says, gesturing to a small switch beside him on the bed.  
  
Louis slides his thumb on top of it and pushes down. The painkiller takes a few minutes to kick in, but once it does he can see the strain dissolve out of Harry's body, his facial features relaxing "Better?"  
  
"Much, thank you," Harry whispers.  
  
Louis leans in, kissing his forehead, then returns to his chair. "Your mum is on her way to see you. She had just booked a plane ticket for tonight when I spoke to her. I hope you don't mind."  
  
Harry stares up at the ceiling. "No, I really appreciate it," A moment of silence passes, then he looks to Louis and says, "I'm really scared."  
  
Louis furrows his eyebrows. "What's there to be scared about?"  
  
"I've never had surgery like this before," Harry replies, shifting his head to face Louis. "Like I...when I was a kid I had my wisdom teeth removed, but I've never had anything major done."

“It seems scary, but it’ll be done and over with before you know it,” Louis brushes a piece of Harry’s hair off his face. The blue hospital gown hangs off his shoulders, obviously a size or two too large, but it highlights his tanned collarbones and sparrow tattoos quite nicely. “At this time tomorrow, you’ll be out of surgery and in a lot less pain.”

“I broke my back,” Harry says, eyes following Louis’s hand as he cards his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” Louis feels the color drain from his face. When Harry phrases it like that it feels like a sharp jab to the gut, but his words are true. “Yeah, you did.”

“What if…” Harry moves, unable to find a comfortable position. “What if I don’t come back from this?”

“Depends,” Louis says. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I mean what if there’s a complication and I end up paralyzed?” Harry asks.

“Harry-”

“No, I’m serious. Shit like that happens all the time. There's a bunch of fucking nerves in my spine and if they slip up, press on the wrong nerve or something, I could be paralyzed. Or,” he thinks for a moment before continuing, “or maybe I’m not paralyzed, but I’m extremely limited to what I can do. I can’t continue to pursue my career, so what happens?”

Louis doesn’t have a definite answer for him. To be honest, he doesn’t know exactly what would happen. “It doesn’t matter, Harry, you’ll find a way to make it work. People love you so much. They would stand by you no matter what you decided to do, and that’s not something you could ever break away from. So, don’t worry because whatever happens tomorrow, there will always be people who admire and love you. _I_ will always admire and love you.”

“Thank you, Louis,” he whispers, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Maybe it’s just the morphine making me anxious, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so uncertain.”

“Obviously I’m not in your position right now, but I would say you have everything you need in order to make a full recovery,” Louis runs his thumb along the curve of Harry’s hairline. “I wouldn’t stress because you’re in great hands and it’s going to happen so quickly. It’ll feel like a distant memory the next morning.”

Harry swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a lure. “I know.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

 

 

 

 

He was told the surgery would only take three hours.

It’s slowly approaching hour five and Louis can hardly keep still. He paces back and forth, back and forth, back and forth down an aisle of plastic seats in the lobby, muttering curses under his breath.

Harry’s mother, Anne, sits, one leg crossed over the other, a women’s fashion magazine draped over her lap, as her eyes flick side to side, observing Louis’s anxiety-ridden behavior.

“I don’t understand,” Louis blurts, coming to a halt in front of her. “The doctor said he would be out of surgery by eleven. What are they doing to him back there?”

Anne starts to speak, but Louis begins to pace again, hands shoved down into the pockets of his sweatpants. There’s a hole in the left one and his fingers keep catching in the cotton threads which doesn’t nicely compliment his aggravated stature. “How fucking long does it take to fix a fucking fracture?”

A younger woman, perhaps in her twenties, covers her infant daughter’s ears, scoffing loudly at his use of foul language.

“As if _it_ can understand me!” he sneers, shaking his head. He rustles his already uncouth hair in frustration. “They need to finish up whatever the hell they’re doing.”

“Louis, sweetheart, I think you really ought to sit down and take a deep breath,” Anne says, moving her purse from the chair beside her to the floor near her feet. “Come here, sit down.”

Louis huffs out a deep, forceful breath, then sulks over to her, after realizing he’s far from obtaining what he wants.

As soon as he’s sat down, she places her hand on his bicep, rubbing in reassurance. “I know you’re worried about him, but I’m sure he’s okay. Dr. Francis did say there was a possibility of an extended procedure if they found some kind of complication.”

“ _Complication._ That’s the only fucking word doctors know to throw around,” Louis curses. “I just want to see him for myself.”

“I know,” she squeezes his arm, freshly manicured nails gently pressing into his flesh, “and you will. You’ve got to be patient.”

He remembers back to visiting Harry this morning before the procedure. Harry was a nervous, trembling wreck, so distraught he was stuttering over his words. He was in pain and he was scared and if Louis could choose to never witness one thing ever again, it would be to avoid seeing Harry in such an awful state. Though, the nurses on call were very nice to him when he asked them to regulate a sedative into Harry’s intravenous needle.

The Valium they distributed helped calm Harry. Louis sat with him through the explanation regarding the final procedural details, even staying until the nurses guided his bed out of the hospital room.

But now, almost five hours later, Louis is beginning to feel uncertain about the entire ordeal. A feeling of panic has settled in the pit of his stomach considering he’s been left to imagine different outcomes - though most of them extremely impossible - but even the slightest feasibility of something terrible occurring scares him.

When the doctor steps out twenty minutes later, a feeling of relief washes over him. She stands near them as she talks. “I understand the procedure took a bit longer than initially expected, so I wanted to let you know that it was because we ran into a bit of a problem when it came to straightening the vertebral body away from the spinal canal, but we were able to fix it accordingly. Other than that slight issue the surgery went exceptionally well and we can definitely expect Harry to make a full recovery.”

“Oh goodness, thank you so much. Do you think we could see him?” Anne asks.

“Right now he’s in recovery, but we’ll have him moved to the ICU in about forty five minutes to an hour. You can see him once he’s there, but not for very long,” Dr. Francis explains. “Today is going to be a day of rest. He’ll be very tired and in quite a bit of pain, but the manual medication pump will be there so he can manage his own intake of Morphine. He has drainage tubes in the incision sites, so we need to make sure he refrains from moving around. Tomorrow will also be a more relaxed day, but we’re going to run a few blood tests to make sure everything looks as it should. A physical therapist will be in to help him with sitting up, standing, and possibly walking. We’ll discuss the following days as we get there.”

Louis listens, intently grasping onto every word she says. “But he’s doing well?”

“He is,” she places a hand on his shoulder. “He’s slowly starting to come off the anesthetic, but I’ll have you know he’s already been asking for you.”

His heart swells a bit. He’s the first person Harry wants to see after going a rather intense procedure.

“A nurse will be out to grab you once he’s settled, but if you have any other questions for me, just ask the receptionist and she’ll be more than happy to page me. I will see you in a little while,” Dr. Francis offers them an encouraging smile, then disappears back through the stainless steel doors.

An hour doesn’t pass by fast enough. It’s filled with phone calls to the lads and his own family to regurgitate updates about Harry’s condition and a short session of scrolling through the rumors on Twitter - there are quite a few. People are speculating everything from drugs to a car accident to a terminal illness, it’s sickening to see the media falsify every tidbit they’re given.

Finally a nurse steps out and calls for them. He’s not as social as Doctor Francis, but still manages to get the job done. “If you need anything, press his call button.”

“Thank you,” Louis says, turning away from him as soon as he walks away. He looks to Anne, breathes out a nervous exhale, then the two of them falter into the hospital room, this one larger than the last.

Harry’s propped up against the angled mattress, pillows stuffed under his backside, and a nasal cannula stuffed in his nostrils and wrapped around his ears. His eyes are hardly open as his body fights a bout of exhaustion.

Louis walks to his bedside and places a hand on the side of his face. “Hi beautiful, how are you feeling?”

Harry eyes lethargically drift to look at Louis. “Tired,” he mumbles.

“I know you are," Louis swipes the pad of his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. “But the surgery went well, and you’re going to make a full recovery. That’s great.”

Harry slowly nods, then searches the room until he locates Anne standing beside Louis. He reaches his left arm out for her, and she takes his hand, squeezing it tight. “Thanks for coming mummy,” His voice croaks, filled with a weary rasp, but it’s endearing because it’s Harry.

Anne smiles at him. “Of course, baby. I’m very proud of you.”

“Can I sleep?” Harry asks, glancing between the both of them.

“Sure, love. We’ll be right here when you wake up again,” Louis kisses his forehead, leaving his lips there for several seconds before pulling away.

Harry falls back asleep very quickly, leaving Louis and Anne to themselves. He sleeps on and off for the rest of the day.

The next day, the physical therapist comes in mid-afternoon and works with helping him sit up, which he can do, slowly and weakly. Then he has Harry attempt to stand. He struggles, latching onto the footing of the bed for dear life, an anguished expression spanned over his face, legs quivering under his weight, until the therapist tells him he can sit back down.

The second day is similar. On the second day, the doctor removes the drainage tubes from Harry’s incision site. While she removes them, Louis can see the large laceration along the middle of Harry’s back and he finds himself having to look away. It looks painful, nearly six inches long, and still inflamed with hues of deep red. Fortunately, it’s covered with proper dressings again because Louis didn’t know how long his sanity could withhold observing it.

His doctor gradually decreases the opiates dispersing from his pain pump, and rather installments of oral medication are allotted to him around meal times. When the physical therapist returns for the day's session, Harry is asked to try walking. Louis volunteers to accompany him on a short stroll down the hall to the nurses' station.

Harry clutches onto his elbow, using him as a means of physical support. They walk very slowly - Harry hisses in pain every few moments - though they're hardly in the hallway, feet barely out of the room when Harry frets about the aching twinges in his back. Louis doesn’t want to push him any further than he can go.

Friends start to visit him the following day. Niall is Harry's first visitor, omitting the daily presence of Louis and his mother, and he bears with him a chocolate chip cookie cake and a bundle of eccentrically colored balloons.

“Does that balloon say 'it’s a girl'?” Harry asks, studying the neon pink balloon in the bundle with curious intent.

Niall peers up at it. He yanks it down by it’s string so Harry can have a better look. “This is all they had at the pharmacy.”

Louis shakes his head as Harry begins to laugh. It’s such a wonderful noise to hear after listening to him wither in pain for the last few days. He was beginning to forget what it sounded like.

“It’s the thought that counts, ” Harry reminds. “Now cut into that cookie cake. If I have to eat another bowl of jello, I’ll die.”

Liam stops by later in the day. He brings a present, wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper - cartoon puppies dressed as Santa decorate the green paper - and sets it on Harry’s lap. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”

“I was out and saw some stuff. You’ve got what? Two days left in this place? A few weeks of bed rest? Have fun with it," Liam says, squeezing Harry’s shoulder.

Harry stares at Liam, then slowly rips the paper off. He’s always been a nimble and careful gift opener, versus Louis who shreds the wrapping paper as soon as he can.

He peels the white box open once the wrapping paper is neatly piled and a laugh erupts his mouth. First, he pulls out a stuffed animal in the form of an elderly man, then holds it highly in the air to show Louis. It’s obviously a gag gift, but Harry enjoys it quite a bit.

“Figured you should have someone you can relate to nearby,” Liam teases.

Harry smiles at him. He unfolds a fuzzy green bathrobe, a few pairs of colorful socks, a variety of candy, and a pack of black gel pens for his journals. “Very nice,” Harry says. “Thank you.”

“I try,” Liam hesitates for a moment. He raises his hand to awkwardly pat Harry’s shoulder, evidently wanting something more, most likely a hug.

“Don’t be a stranger. You can give me a hug, you’ve just gotta be mindful of my back.”

Liam’s eyes light up. He’s _extremely_ careful and tender with Harry as he leans down and engulfs him in a hug, limiting his arms from touching his lower back.

“It feels good to get a little action around here. Someone else in this very room is afraid to touch me," Harry says as soon as Liam pulls away, eyeing Louis up and down.

“What?” The older boy asks, shocked Harry would say such a thing. His voice raises in pitch as it does when he’s feeling mildly defensive. “I am not-”

“Louis if you touch my face one more time, the skin is going to fall right off,” Harry kids, meeting his cerulean eyes across the hospital room. “You’re not going to hurt me if you touch anywhere below my jaw, okay? I’ll let you know if it hurts.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not afraid to touch you.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Harry chastises.

Louis opens his mouth to argue, but a nurse steps in before he has the chance to. “Do you need to use the bathroom, hun?”

Harry flushes pink. “Uh, no. I'm alright.”

“Okay, I need to change your bandages, sweetheart," she says.

Louis places a hand on Liam’s back. “That’s your cue to get out Liam.”

“Alright well I’ll stop by again, Harry. It’s good to see you!” He calls over his shoulder, making a hasty exit.

Louis stands on the opposite side of the room, leaning against the wall, eyes downcast, as the nurse changes the dressings on Harry’s surgical site.

Once she finishes and leaves the room, he takes a seat on the side of Harry’s bed, body sinking into the used mattress. “Okay, you’re right. Maybe I am a little scared to touch you.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Wow that makes me feel loads better,” Louis sighs. “It’s not very reassuring.”

Harry holds his left arm out in front of him. “There.”

“What?”

“Touch me.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “That’s it. You’ve gone mad.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry nods towards his arm. “Touch me.”

Louis hesitates, observing Harry’s arm for the longest time. After a few moments, he grazes Harry’s inked skin with his fingertips and as he begins to accept the situation, becoming comfortable, he rubs the surface of his forearm. “See? Doesn’t hurt, not even a little. Get a little more comfortable, touch my chest, touch my neck.”

His hand shifts, touching Harry’s chest. He traces circles against his sternum, then outlines the birds tattooed near his collarbones with his pointer finger, hands slowly inching towards Harry’s neck. He brushes Harry's hair behind his ear. 

Soon, he finds himself leaning in, lips pressing to a spot just below Harry’s jaw. He blows cold air against his skin, then nibbles, tongue dipping between his lips to stimulate the area. Soft moans expel from Harry’s mouth as he arches his head back. Louis’s hand slips under the hospital gown, inching closer to Harry’s bare crotch, but he stops, gripping the inner side of Harry’s thigh, squeezing his peachy flesh between his fingers.

Harry starts to move, but twists the wrong way, compelling a pained groan to leave him. Louis immediately pulls away, staring at him with wide eyes. His eyes are clenched shut, his breathing strenuous, attempting to brace himself against the mattress . “It’s not you. I moved the wrong way, sorry. I’m sorry. It wasn’t you,” he mumbles.

Louis doesn’t pay attention to his jumbled apologies, hand moving from his inner thigh back to his face, cupping his chin. “Are you okay?”

“The…” Harry absorbs a sharp inhale. His hand covers his eyes and he squeezes his face. “Hurts a lot.”

“Okay, give me a second. Let me grab a nurse for you," Louis says, sitting up straight. He leans over and presses the call button.

A minute later, a different nurse than before strides into the room. “What’s going on?”

“Is there anyway you could give Harry more pain medication?” Louis asks. “He's in quite a bit of pain.”

“Let me see," she walks over to the end of his bed, picks up the clipboard, and reads the details. “I can't give him anymore pain medicine for the time being, since we’re trying to lower his intake of narcotics from the pump. It's standard procedure. The strongest thing I can give him right now is Ibuprofen.”

Louis glances at Harry, then at the nurse. “As long as you can give him something.”

“I'll be right back,” she says, exiting the room.

Louis nears the headboard. “How about I help you straighten these pillows out? Maybe if we can get you laying right you'll feel better.”

Dr. Francis mentioned slipping a pillow under his knees to keep his body positioned a particular way. “I'm going to grab one of these pillows from underneath you, okay?” Louis tugs the pillow under Harry’s upper back out from under him, then helps him move his legs to slide the pillow underneath.  “There we go, now let’s fluff these out a bit, eh?” he asks, adjusting the pillows behind Harry’s back. “Lay back for me, love. Come here," he places a hand on Harry’s shoulders and guides him back.

Harry lays against the pillows. "Sorry to ruin the moment."

Louis shakes his head, disregarding Harry's comment. “Where does it hurt? Is it just where your stitches are?” he asks, brushing Harry’s hair off his forehead.

“My entire back,” Harry answers, a sense of defeat layered in his tone. “Figured it was coming. I’ve been stiff all morning.”

Louis nods. He doesn’t understand because he doesn’t comprehend the feeling associated with back surgery and can’t even imagine the amount of pain Harry is experiencing, but he tries to. Harry has always had a relatively high tolerance to pain, to see him crumbling under its wrath is a bit disheartening.

The nurse returns with a few pills and a paper cup filled to the brim with water. “Here you are, dear,” she takes the items from him after he's downed the pills. “Is there anything else I can grab for you?”

“No, thank you,” Harry says with a forced smile. “I appreciate it.”

Louis sits down after she leaves, observant of Harry. He watches with close intent to ensure the younger boy isn’t in too much pain.

Harry speaks very suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “If this is what these next few months are going to be like, I don’t know how I’ll cope.”

“Everything takes time. You know that as well as I do.”

“It hurts so much, Louis. I can block out a lot of shit, but this is like a dark cloud hanging over my head, and as much as I try to forget about it, I can’t, it’s like looming over me. It hurts to fucking move and…” Harry shakily exhales, “and it feels like the rest of my life depends on these next three months.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it?” Harry laughs. “If I don’t make the progress that I’m supposed to make, everything gets pushed back, and if my back doesn’t heal as it’s supposed to, I say goodbye to my career. I wasn't ready for such a large obstacle in my life.”

Louis figures his panic stems from the conversation Dr. Francis shared with them yesterday. She was very blunt, but also extremely hopeful. Louis figures Harry’s chosen to ignore her optimistic diction.

It’s a tedious three months to follow. Harry’s expected to continue with physical therapy for those months as well as schedule several check-ups at the hospital. He has to wear a back brace for _at least_ six weeks following the surgery. He’s not allowed to lift anything over ten pounds. He can’t bend or twist his body at certain angles.

It’s been a lot for Louis to take in and fully understand. They don’t even have the comfort of their own home for Harry to recover in. They’re bound to Harry’s apartment here in New York for at least three months since his travel has been restricted.

“You’re not gonna say goodbye to your career. As long as you follow the doctor’s orders, you’ll be able to work your strength back up until you’re physically able to continue.”

Harry is stubborn, one of the most stubborn people Louis has ever met, and if he wants something done, he’ll go out of his way to do it, even if he’s been strictly told not to. The first four weeks of recovery are meant for healing, which means the pain will be at it’s peak, therefore Harry needs to take it slow and relax. He's gradually working his way towards an end goal of full recovery.

"Everyone in the world is rooting against me," Harry snaps, eyes teary, " _Everyone_ , Louis. I go online for two bloody seconds and they're already saying I don't stand a chance of returning and they don't even know what's wrong with me. All the tabloids are running exclusives that aren't even true and I-"

"You need to stay offline." Louis interrupts. "It's in your best interest right now to stay away from everything. You don't need the negativity right now. You need to focus on recovering, that should be your priority." 

Harry forces a miserable laugh. "Did you hear about what happened this morning? Before you got here?"

"No," Louis thinks about it for a moment. He didn't know anything out of the ordinary occurred this morning. "What happened this morning?"

"Reporters tried to break into the hospital," Harry says, nostrils flaring. He's becoming increasingly upset. "Fed the nurses some fucking bullshit about being related to me. They thought it didn't sound right and they asked me about it before letting them in, but what if they hadn't? I can't deal with all these people asking me questions and taking pictures and- and budging into my business. I can't constantly be on high alert when I can hardly walk." 

"Shh, relax," Louis whispers, cradling Harry's face in his hand. "You've gotta calm down, love. I'll talk to the nurses and hospital security about the visitors list, make sure they understand how important it is, and we'll keep a guard outside your room if we have to." 

Harry shakes his head. "I can't- I have a public image to maintain, don't I? I can't have people slandering my name."

"Your public image does not reflect who _you_ , Harry Styles, are as a person. You're kind and humble and wonderful no matter what is said about you." 

"I don't have anything if they destroy my reputation," Harry frets, sitting up. "I- what do I have if they do that? I mean I- I have you obviously and my family, but what else? Fucking nothing. I don't have _anything_. This is my everything." 

"Harry, baby," Louis sighs. "Your blood pressure is gonna go through the roof, relax. Your reputation does _not_ matter. How many times has my name been drug through the mud?"

"A lot," Harry says without hesitation.

"Exactly, but I'm still here because I don't give a fuck. The media have written shit article after shit article about me, but I learned to quit reacting to it. If they can't get a rise out of you, then it doesn't matter," Louis reminds. "At the end of the day, I go home to a boyfriend who loves me, a family who cares about me unconditionally, and millions of fans who respect me. I'm telling you it doesn't matter, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay?" Louis asks once more, ensuring Harry has started to calm down. The last thing he wants is a nurse barging in and kicking him out of Harry's room for overwhelming him.

"Okay," Harry swallows. “This fucking sucks.”

“That it does, but you can try to make the most of it. It’s all about how you look at things.”

Harry pivots his head to glance at Louis. His eyebrow is raised as he thinks over his boyfriend’s comment. “Suppose you’re right.”

Louis speaks to the nurses at their station down the hall, reminding them of how critical the visitor's list is. They're as understanding as they can be given they're unable to relate to the situation. Arrangements are made for security guards to troop the halls. 

Harry's sister, Gemma, Skypes them later in the evening. Louis sets his silver Macbook - decorated with far too many _punk_ stickers - on Harry’s chest as they wait for her video call.

As soon as Harry answers, her usual soft spoken voice surprises him, booming through the speakers, scolding him. “I go away to Ibiza for one bloody week and you manage to break your back! How is that possible?” she asks, not giving him the chance to speak, then continues, “Oh my God, are you okay? I didn't know Louis was gonna have me call you when you were in bed! I thought maybe you’d be up and about.”

“Gemma, Gemma…” Harry sighs as she continues to ramble. “Gemma!” he shouts, bursting into a hardy laugh. She stops, pushing her pink tinted sunglasses into her dyed, platinum blonde hair. She’s still in Ibiza - sat outside, perhaps out on a balcony or poolside - and is wearing a light blue one piece swimsuit along with a irritated, bright red sunburn, smeared across her fair complexion. “I'm okay, Gems, honestly.”

“You broke your back,” Gemma argues.

Louis lays against him in the hospital bed, cautious of his back, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder and his hand on his stomach. Harry settles his hand on Louis’s back, holding him close. “This is true,” he laughs.

Gemma shakes her head. Her boyfriend, Michal, is in the picture too, sipping a mixed cocktail out of a neon orange glass. He can hear a few girls in the background and he assumes they’re her friends - Aimee, Krystal, and some others - and even given his current state, he hopes she's having fun, she deserves it. “I don't think it's very funny, little brother.”

Harry sighs. “If you can't laugh at yourself, then who can you laugh at?”

Louis smiles, burying his face in the cotton blue material of Harry’s hospital gown.

“Harry,” she sighs, “babe, your back is an extremely vital part of your body. I just- I don't think you should be taking this very lightly.”

“I'm _not_. As soon as I’m out of here, I've got physical therapy and-”

“Are you going to do it?” Gemma asks.

Harry shrugs. “Don't really have a choice, do I? I don't do the therapy, I end up with a permanent injury.”

“But I know how stubborn you are,” Gemma says. “Make sure you do _exactly_ what the doctor tells you.”

“Yes, mum,” Harry rolls his eyes. “I'm not stupid, you know? And anyways, I’ve got Louis and he won't let me fuck this up.”

Louis lifts his head from Harry’s shoulder, kissing his jaw. “I'll be taking notes while his doctor talks.”

Gemma shakes her head, chuckling. “I know you will,” If she wasn't halfway across the world, she’d hug Harry tight, embracing his tall, muscular body against hers. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm only two days out of surgery,” Harry reminds.

“Right, but are you feeling better? Mum said you were in a lot of pain, that's why I didn't bother calling.”

Louis sucks on Harry’s neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh, which evokes a gasp out of him. Louis smirks, laying his head in the crook of Harry’s neck.

Gemma raises her eyebrows, lingeringly sipping out of Michal’s drink. “Have you two quite finished?” she asks.

Harry clears his throat, acting as though the last thirty seconds didn't occur. “The hospital therapist comes in, and he has me standing and walking,” he explains, “but it hurts _so_ bad, Gems. Never, have I ever, been in so much pain. As soon as I get up, I want to lay down, and like...I know it’ll fade with time, but I honestly felt like I was going to pass out the first day they had me up.”

“That's horrible,” Gemma whispers, resting her chin in the palm of her hand as she meets Harry's eyes through the computer screen. “How long do they think that’ll last for?”

“Depends on the person, I suppose. Could be up to four weeks.”

“Four weeks?” Gemma’s eyes widen. “Goddammit Harry. Fuck, well, I’ll be home in less than a week, maybe then I’ll fly out to New York, crash with you and Louis for a few days or something, finally catch The Book of Mormon on Broadway, eat some good food, you know the usual.”

Harry smiles. “I’d like that."

“I'm glad," Gemma says. “You look tired, I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“Alright Gems, thank you for calling.”

“You bet, kiddo. Love you, bye.”

Harry blows a kiss at the camera. “Love you too, have fun.”

After speaking to Gemma, he relaxes, no longer worried about where this obstacle will lead his career. For the rest of the night, that is. He falls asleep soon after Louis takes the laptop off his chest.

Louis kisses his forehead, dismissing himself for the night. “I'll see you tomorrow, baby. I love you.”

 

 

 

 

Louis pauses in the doorway of Harry’s hospital room, mouth falling slightly agape.

“Is it that bad?” Harry asks.

He’s sat on the edge of the bed, feet planted into the tiled floor. There isn’t issue with the way he’s sitting, but with his appearance. A large black vest is strapped to his chest, though with closer inspection, Louis identifies the details emulating a back brace.

The majority of Harry’s torso is covered by the molded plastic. The front has a metallic plate pushing into his chest and another into his lower stomach, keeping the contraption secure on the trunk of his body. It has straps that extend over Harry’s shoulders, hooking into the back portion.

Louis doesn’t say anything as he approaches his boyfriend. He’s curious about what the back looks like, he rounds the bed to view it. It's identical to the front, except one large metal plate extends vertically along the center of his back, held securely by fastening straps on each of Harry’s sides.

“It’s not bad,” Louis finally says, stepping into Harry’s line of vision. “I just assumed it was going to be...I don’t know a little less complex? How does it feel?”

“Tight.”

“Does your back feel any better?”

“Not really,” Harry shakes his head. “You know, I bet this is what Frankenstein felt like, poor guy.”

“It’s really not that bad. Just like you’re going into war,” Louis jokes, eyeing the firm metal pieces attached to the brace. “Has Dr. Francis been around?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah. She said she’d be back around with the discharge papers and to schedule my next appointment.”

“Good,” Louis sits down beside him and places a hand on his thigh. “It’s gonna be nice for you to be out of this place. I'll have you all to myself."

“It felt like I was never going to leave.”

Louis chuckles. “We’ll have a round of drinks at home to celebrate. Of course, we’ll have to give you the spinal injury friendly one. How’s grape juice sound?”

“Honestly?” Harry asks. “Not so bad.”

 

 

 

 

Being as Gemma flies in from England and stays with them, Harry follows the doctor's orders. She’ll reprimand him if he doesn't do exactly as he's told to.

They’re happy to see one another - Harry shouts out in excitement as soon as he lays eyes on her, patting the empty space beside him in bed, inviting her to tell him all about her experience in Ibiza - though Gemma fusses over him for the three days she stays, lingering around the door to the master bedroom and offering to help him whenever he does as much as move.

Louis enjoys having her around. It gives both himself and Harry a break from each other. They take turns regulating his pain medicine, waking him to go for short walks around the house, and entertaining him, which is relatively easy as long as it includes either a story or a bit of humor.

With Gemma around Harry lays as he’s supposed to - a pillow lodged under his knees and another stuffed behind his back - without protest. He walks around minimally, ices his back, wears the brace whenever he sits or stands for more than ten minutes, and doesn’t once complain over Louis’s constant concern.

He even allows Louis to help him shower, which undeniably astonishes Louis - Harry has never been one to display vulnerability - but he doesn’t withhold from assisting him.

Harry isn’t a bashful man, but standing in the bathroom, with his clothing dangling off his thin body, his eyes drift to focus on the floor and a shade of pale pink blooms over his cheeks. “Do I look bad?” he asks.

“Not even a little.” Louis replies.

He’s slimmer than he’s been in recent years, skin chalky, and his tangled, uncouth hair needs to be cared for, but he’s still the most beautiful man Louis has ever laid eyes on.

Harry stands in front of the mirror, observing his reflection. “I look pathetic.” he says, tugging the skin on his face as if his appearance will instantly transform. Discolored circles trickle under his eyes and his cheeks are gaunt, cheekbones protruding out of his thin face. He hasn’t shaved in over a week, stubble washes over his cheeks, chin, and above his upper lip. Louis knows he doesn’t like the appearance facial hair grants him - too gruff, as he always says - though Louis does find the maturity it adds to his soft facial features captivating.

Louis saunters behind him, eyes locking on Harry’s through the mirror. “You also had intense back surgery. No one expects you to look like you’re meeting the Queen, baby,” he says, hand repositioning to cup Harry’s chin. “You should shower before your back flares up.” He strokes the pad of his thumb over the coarseness of Harry’s chin.

“You’re right,” Harry says, swallowing thickly as he gazes down at Louis. In moments like this, their four inch height difference becomes distinct. He bows at his shoulders, fixating on Louis’s bright eyes, then leans in, lips pressing to Louis’s.

Louis stands on his toes, hand placed on the back of Harry’s neck, coiling his hair around his fingers. Their chests touch, grinding slightly, though he refrains from burdening Harry’s body. He tugs Harry’s hair, forcing his head back and a moan out of his mouth. “Don’t tease me,” Harry whines, pressing his forehead to his. “Can’t have sex for another five weeks.”

“I know,” Louis whispers, hand grazing Harry’s chin. He pulls away, ceasing the intimacy when he asks, “Do you need help taking your clothes off?”

“I’ve got it,” Harry says.

Louis helps him into the tub after he’s peeled his sweatpants and vintage tee off. From there Harry stands to shower and Louis sits on the sink, scrolling through his Twitter feed, waiting around in case Harry needs him.

The fans’ level of hysteria in regards to the abrupt disappearance of One Direction has yet to change. None of the members have been spotted or present on social media in the last week or so and considering the fans know of Harry’s hospitalization and nobody has provided them with a definite explanation, their disappearance doesn’t do anything to ease the fans’ nerves.

He decides to tweet, in an attempt to let the world know they’re all alive and well.

_@Louis_Tomlinson: Loving the new Twitter update !! Looks siiiick !_

His number of mentions climbs and the people who aren’t teasing him about using Twitter for promotional purposes, ask and demand answers regarding Harry.

“Louis?” Harry calls, inhaling sharply a moment later. He’s sitting on the edge of the tub now, back facing Louis.

Louis sets his phone down. “What’s the matter love?” he asks, hopping off the counter.

“It’s starting to hurt but,” Harry stops, “but I need to wash my back. Can you-”

Louis interrupts him. “Yeah, of course. Hand me your loofah,” Harry still has soap suds twined in his hair and on his skin, Louis assumes it means he couldn’t physically endure standing long enough to rinse off. Harry hands him the purple bath sponge, dripping with water and soap, and Louis tenderly slides it over his back, droplets of water roll down him. He’s increasingly gentle as he nears the long, inflamed scar, using his hand instead to ensure he isn’t too rough.

Harry involuntarily groans at the pressure. Louis stops for a moment, waiting for Harry’s okay to continue, then sticks his hand under the shower head, rinsing his hand off, and uses the excess water to clean the soap away from Harry’s incision.

Louis squeezes a portion of Harry’s drenched hair, soap oozes between his fingers. He wipes his hand off on his flannel pajama pants. “You’re gonna have to stand back up to rinse the soap out of your hair.”

Harry grips the tub and starts to push himself into a standing position, but stops, a jolt of pain surging down his back. “Fuck, I don't think I can,” he breathes.

Louis slides his own clothing off. He swings his leg over the side of the tub, leg hair dampening with water as soon as he steps onto the porcelain floor.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, gawking at him. “You're going to get wet.”

Louis stands with one leg in and one leg out of the tub. “It's okay.”

“Louis I-”

“It's okay,” he repeats, pulling his other leg into the tub. The water from the shower head pelts him, hot water saturates his hair and skin. He offers both hands to Harry. “I know it hurts, but the hot water will loosen you up. Let me help you up."

Harry seizes his hands and Louis slowly pulls him upward, ignoring the shift in his breathing - quick, shallow breaths expelling out of him - and once he’s on his feet, Louis walks backwards, guiding Harry until he’s under the shower head, water dribbling down his tall frame. “How’s it feel?” Louis asks.

“Better...not as tight," Harry mumbles, shutting his eyes. “Still hurts.”

Louis stretches to run his hands through Harry’s hair, washing the soap out. “I’ll get you a pain killer once we’re back in the bedroom.” He turns the faucet off and assists Harry out of the tub, helping him dry off with a towel. He pats the incision site moistureless.

He slips the green robe - the one Liam bought for him - onto Harry’s skinny body and falters behind him as they walk to the bedroom.

Louis has exceptional bedside manner. He doesn’t gain anything out of witnessing Harry experience severe pain, especially since it’s pain manageable by medication. Being there for every step of Harry’s recovery - the doctor’s appointments, physical therapy sessions, his good days, his bad days, all of it - is important to him

There are times when lingering by his side isn’t the greatest. Like when the pain is almost unbearable for Harry and he won’t move from a fetal position on the bed, blanket draped over him, face buried in the pillows. In those moments, Louis doesn’t pressure him and instead helps him take his painkillers responsibly, as he should, to prevent future dependency.

To say Louis is shocked by Harry’s patience is an understatement.

It doesn’t last. Gemma books a flight home for the afternoon of the third day.

She has to leave because of her obligations back home - Anne, her boyfriend, her job, and her cats. Although, she does tell Louis as he drives her to the airport that seeing Harry in such a weak physical state is too much for her to handle.

In her mind, Harry has always portrayed the epitome of strength. It crushes her spirit to see him weak.

With her absence, the _fourth_ day out of the hospital marks Harry’s gradual disregard for his recovery.

Louis leaves to run to the corner store for twenty minutes and by the time he comes back, Harry’s out of bed, walking up the stairs. He makes an ice compress for Harry to lay on top of - he doesn’t even have to hold it in place - and Harry leaves it on the dresser to melt. He prepares dinner for Harry, vegetables and all, and Harry snaps at him, telling him he doesn’t need to be treated like an invalid.

It’s the morning of the sixth day when Louis wakes to a blaring, yet familiar noise, he finds himself feeling confused. At first he comprehends it only as white noise, but the longer he listens the easier it becomes to recognize. “Is that a...vacuum cleaner?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at Harry.

But there’s two problems present. Harry isn’t in bed with him and his back brace is stuffed into the drawer of the nightstand. A flash of hot rage crosses his entire body.

He climbs out of bed immediately and marches down the hallway to the front room where he finds Harry vacuuming underneath one of the recliners. He’s been calm these last few days, not uttering a word when Harry has completely ignored his efforts and the doctor’s orders, but Harry’s negligence and his annoyance with it reaches a front very suddenly.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” he snaps.

Harry flinches, evidently surprised by Louis’s presence. He holds the detachable vacuum hose in his hand. “I didn’t even hear you come down the hall," he laughs, turning the vacuum off.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Louis rephrases.

“I’m cleaning up the Cheerios I dumped, what does it look like?”

Louis scoffs. He can’t be serious. “Cleaning up Cheerios,” he repeats.

“Yep.”

“Harry, do you see a problem with our current situation?” Louis asks, struggling to retain his sense of tranquility.

Harry thinks for a moment. “Well…” he puckers his lips together, pointing the hose at Louis. “You’re scolding me for no apparent reason.”

“Scolding you for no- are you kidding?” Louis blurts, yanking the hose out of Harry’s hand. “You’re a week and a half out of having intense back surgery, you don’t have your brace on, and you’re fucking vacuuming when you know damn well you’re not supposed to be bending and twisting.”

“I don’t like the way the brace rubs on my chest,” Harry argues, reaching for the hose. “I’m feeling a lot better anyway.”

Louis pulls it away from him. “You’re still on bed rest. So, go lay down and I’ll fix you a new bowl of Cheerios, alright?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no,” Harry replies, dryly. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need you watching my every move.”

Louis blinks. “What?” he repeats.

“I’m fine, Louis,” He switches the vacuum on, jerking the hose away from his dumbfounded boyfriend. “I don’t need your help.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say. He knows the right thing to do would be to talk Harry down from this sudden surge of cockiness, but he doesn’t foresee it being an easy task. “Whatever,” he says instead, turning around on his heel, and retreats down the hallway.

He doesn’t speak to Harry for the rest of the morning. At one point, he moves to sit in the front room, where Harry happens to be laying down, but neither of them say a word. The TV serves as background noise to Louis’s thoughts until a story referring to Harry is discussed.

_After two weeks of confidentiality, a statement regarding singer Harry Styles' health scare has been released. As confirmed by one of Harry Styles' representatives via the official One Direction Facebook page, the young One Direction frontman has suffered an intense back injury and during this time, the band will not be continuing with their promotional commitments until Styles has recovered and received permission to do so from his physician. The twenty three year old singer underwent an elective surgery early last week and was discharged from the hospital Saturday morning. His representative wrote: 'Harry is currently doing well and recovering with the guidance of his loved ones, but at this time, he and his bandmates ask for privacy'. It is unknown when Styles will return to engage in his band's obligations._

Harry sighs at the news report. He stands - Louis tries his hardest to ignore the grimace that spreads across every line in his face - and wanders into the kitchen.

Louis reaches for the remote on the coffee table and switches the channel to something more suitable, the Manchester United footie game.

The game is intense. Manchester is doing well, though they’re tied with Madrid at three goals each, and it’s cutthroat as the last five minutes tick away on the scoreboard..

A forward on Madrid’s team runs the ball up to Manchester’s goalpost. Time stands still as he swings his foot back and swiftly kicks the ball, sending it airborne. But David de Gea, Manchester’s goalie, jumps, blocking it from entering the goal post, and the crowd erupts in excited screams.

As soon as their screams descend, a noise from within the kitchen, the sound of something fragile hitting the tile and shattering, has Louis’s attention.

“Harry?” he calls over his shoulder. “Harry, you alright?”

No response.

He stands, drifting into the kitchen. He stops in the doorway.

Harry is on the floor, sat against the cabinets, more tense than Louis has seen in him the past few days. He’s shaking, like properly trembling, and shockingly pale. In fact he’s so pale his face is tinted green. Around him is a mess of ceramic shards and hot tea, judging by the handle that’s partially intact, Louis would guess it was a mug.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, tiptoeing over the shards to avoid slicing his feet open, and lowers himself into a squat, directly in front of Harry. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, neck arched upward, clenched so tightly Louis can see the veins in his forehead protruding.

Louis touches his face. “Can you stand, love?”

“No, I-” Harry sharply inhales- “No.”

“Alright, that’s okay," Louis says. Now would be the perfect time to say _I told you so_ , but it isn’t appropriate, not when his boyfriend is in excruciating pain. Harry’s hands are shaking. He places one of his over top of Harry’s. “I’m going to grab your painkillers and your brace, okay? Then we’ll get you standing once you’re feeling better. You didn’t prick yourself with the shards, right? No burns?”

“I’m okay,” Harry tries to move, but stops himself with a gasp.

Louis hesitates. He doesn’t want to leave him alone, but he also doesn’t want him to suffer. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s never moved so quickly. First, he stops in the bathroom, digging through the medicine cabinet for a prescription bottle filled with pain meds, then dashes down the hallway to retrieve Harry’s brace.

“Take this,” he drops two painkillers into Harry’s palm and steps over the jagged pieces of ceramic, fetching a water bottle from the fridge. He hands it to Harry and sits beside him as he waits for Harry to swallow down the medicine and drain the pain.

Harry shuts his eyes, breathing heavy as he tries to block the painful sensation out of his mind. “I’m sorry. You were right. Should’ve listened to you.”

“Doesn’t matter if I was right or not,” Louis hushes, pushing his hair off his face. He’s clammy to the touch, skin moist with sweat, and radiating heat. “You shouldn’t be in this much pain. It isn’t right. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m so fucking stupid,” Harry swallows, thick. “Don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to strain myself.”

Louis chuckles. “Because you’re you, and you’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met. How are you feeling now? Is the pain starting to lighten up?”

“Little bit," Harry tilts his head down. “Help me put the brace on?”

Louis nods, reaching behind him for the brace. He helps Harry slide it on his right arm first, then his left. Harry adjusts the metal plates until they sit how they should on his chest and stomach, then Louis fastens the straps, hooking them together accordingly. “Too tight?” he asks.

“It’s good,” Harry says.

Louis stands first, leaning down to offer himself as a support beam. Harry grabs his shoulder, pushing down on it, until he finds the balance and strength in his legs to stand upright. “Feels like I broke it again," Harry jokes, miserably.

“Do you think I should call Dr. Francis?” Louis asks, guiding him through the kitchen. “Watch your step,” he reminds.

Harry sighs. “To be on the safe side, yeah. Just...just explain to her that I’m extremely impatient, yeah? Don't make it sound like a big deal." 

“I’ll ring her after I tidy up the kitchen." He leads Harry to the couch. "Lay here and I’ll come back 'round to get you some pillows.”

He sweeps the pieces of ceramic into a dustpan and dumps them into the rubbish bin. Next comes wiping the tea off the floor and vacuuming any of the tiny pieces which escaped the dustpan.

When he calls Dr. Francis and explains Harry rushed his recovery and may have hurt himself she sounds annoyed - which he can honestly understand - and explains Harry will need to come in for X-rays to make sure he hasn’t injured the vertebrae any further.

They drive to her office and after the results of the X-rays come back, it seems he hasn’t injured the area anymore, but she explains the swelling is significantly worse than what it should be at this point. Bed rest is made crucial and unavoidable when he should be gradually moving away from it.

Despite the bad news, Harry decides to gain common sense and follow her instructions. He ices his back multiple times a day, occasionally needing Louis’s help to place it on the proper area, and stays in bed, taking only short walks as suggested.

Louis looks at his incision site everyday since he’s unable to see it himself - unless he angles a hand mirror a particular way when he’s in the bathroom, which is more of a hassle than it needs to be - and tells him it’s healing well when in reality it’s still rather discolored and grotesque.

“Maybe I’ll cover it with a tattoo one day," Harry says.

Louis smiles at him. “Or you could embrace it.”

His physical therapy goes well too. He hates having to go, but every day he does he becomes stronger. It still aches if he sits for too long without the brace or walks for exceedingly long distances, but he’s learned to pace himself.

One particular morning he wakes with extreme pain in his back, but chooses not to say a word regarding the agony to Louis, trying to prove to him that he's recovering well.

Louis leaves for a bit to buy salty snacks - ranch Pringles for himself and pretzels for Harry - and dish soap from the grocery store since the ice packs the doctor ordered for Harry consist of frozen dish soap, making them _gel_ packs. When he comes back, he expects Harry to be out of bed, but the younger boy is nowhere in sight.

“Harry?” Louis calls, setting the grocery bags down on the kitchen floor. He steps away from them, roaming around the apartment in search of his boyfriend. He stops in the doorway when he sees the silhouette of his boyfriend under the duvet. He knocks on the door before stepping inside. “Harry, you alright?”

Harry doesn't say anything, staring out the window, afraid to twist his body. Louis approaches the bed and sits down by Harry’s feet. “I can tell you're awake, love. What's the matter?”

The shift of the bed causes pain to flare across Harry’s back. He chokes on a whimper, clenching his eyes shut. “Nothing,” he mumbles. “I'm fine.”

“Nothing,” Louis echos. He stares out the window too, eyes focused on a blue bird as it perches on the windowsill. “You sure about that?” he asks.

Harry swallows. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Alright. I bought some chamomile tea, would you like some?” Louis starts to stand.

"Sure," Harry says.

Louis sighs to himself, beginning to walk out of the room.

“Louis-” Harry cries.

Louis stops, turning to face Harry. He has flashbacks to standing in the hotel room two weeks ago, Harry writhing and sobbing in pain, and the medics strapping him down to the gurney. It was horrific. He doesn't want to ever repeat those moments. “Baby, what's wrong?” he asks. “Do you need a painkiller?”

Harry nods, crying too hard to respond. Louis wastes no time grabbing his prescription bottle from the bathroom and the water bottle from the nightstand and handing two pills and the water to Harry.

While they wait for the medication to relax his muscles and rid his pain, Louis stays with him. “Shh, it's okay, don't cry,” he climbs into bed, lying on his side, facing him. “Let me know when you start to feel better, okay?”

Harry doesn't say anything, watery, bloodshot eyes retaining contact with Louis’s. He raises a shaky hand to his face, wiping his tears away.

“I'm sorry that you're in so much pain,” Louis whispers, inching closer to Harry, careful to not jolt the bed. He tucks Harry’s hair out of his face, behind his ear. “But you're almost over it. Another week and Dr. Francis says you’ll be past the most intense portion of it.”

Harry exhales heavily, a few more tears seeping out of his eyes. “Can we-” he stops. “Can we send flowers to the staff at the hospital and...and the paramedics, too?”

“Of course, love. They’ll appreciate that very much,” Louis brushes his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. “We'll make arrangements right after your back starts to feel better, okay?”

Harry sniffles. “Okay." 

“Maybe we can cater a lunch for them too,” Louis suggests. “That would be nice.”

“That…” Harry inhales. “That's a good idea.”

“Mhm,” Louis hums, now close enough to him that their chests touch. He presses a kiss to Harry’s lips. “How's the painkiller working?”

“It’s starting to feel better," Harry whispers.

They lay like this for a while. Louis's hand stroking Harry's face and whispering sweet nothings until he can see the tension fade from the lines in his face. "Don't think I ever really took the time to thank you for staying with me these last few weeks, so thank you."

"Harry you don't have to-"

"I'm not finished yet. Please," Harry touches Louis' jaw, "please, let me finish. I need to get it off my chest."

Louis swallows.

"You stayed with me everyday, from the time I was admitted to the time I was discharged, and that means so much to me. I don't think anyone likes hospitals, but you made it tolerable, Louis, thank you. You even stayed for the grossest shit like...like when they took my catheter out." 

"Are you kidding?" Louis gasps. "That was the highlight of it all."

Harry laughs. "Louis...no, but seriously, it means a lot to me that you stayed. Even if you were uncomfortable, you never showed it, and ever since I've been home, you've helped me a lot." 

"I care about you, of course I want to help you," Louis says. 

"I know you do, but you don't have to help me. You didn't have to help me shower, you didn't have to sleep on the floor so I could sleep in bed, and you didn't have to cancel your life for me these last few weeks, but you did, so thank you, and I'm sorry if you ever felt like I took you for granted." 

"You're silly," Louis laughs, kissing his lips, "but I love you anyway."

"What's so funny?" Harry asks.

"You haven't taken me for granted once. You're stubborn and you're irritable when you don't feel well, but you've never made me feel underappreciated or inferior. If anything, I thought you felt like I was invalidating you, since I'm breathing down your neck 24/7." 

"I need someone to remind me of my place," Harry admits. "Without you, I'd have my mum here, and with my mum here, I would have another broken vertebrae from trying to prove her wrong, so believe me, I'm eternally grateful." 

"Always trying to prove something to someone, Styles," Louis murmurs, meeting his eyes. "Suppose that's why I like you as well as I do." 

"Well, if that's why you like me..." Harry inquires. "Then why do you love me?" 

"Because you're handsome," he kisses him, "and you have a heart of gold," another kiss, "and you are the _strongest_ man I've ever met." He kisses him once more.

 

 

 

 

The lads traveled home, to the U.K., after they visited Harry in the hospital, but they come back during his fourth week of recovery to check in on him. They’re a bit surprised when they see how complex Harry's back brace is and just how tired he still looks, as his rough appearance doesn’t come across so intensely through video calls.

“You look good," Liam says, sitting opposite of him in one of the recliners.

“Really?” Harry asks, uncertain.

“Absolutely, how many people look like bloody models wearing a back brace?” He wiggles his eyebrows, hoping to make Harry laugh.

He does, even blushing a bit across his cheeks and nose.

“Just what he needs. An ego boost," Louis exasperates, leaning down to kiss the top of Harry’s head. He sits down beside him on the arm of the couch.

“Someone needs to say something,” Niall walks down the hallway, coming from the bathroom, phone braced in his hand, “and soon.”

“What?” Louis blurts in confusion. “To who? About what?”

“People are getting upset with us since we haven’t commented about Harry on any social media,” Niall explains. “Everyone still believes we owe them an explanation.”

“Let me grab my phone. I’ll set the record straight,” Harry announces, using Louis's knee to push himself to his feet. He stumbles when he starts to walk.

Louis catches his elbow in his hand, tugging him back. “You don’t need to be up and about right now, I’ll get your phone.”

Once Louis leaves the room, Liam and Niall peer at Harry, who’s sat back down. “You alright?” Niall asks, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, physical therapy tires me out,” Harry responds, offering a reassuring smile. “But I’m fine, I promise.”

Louis returns, handing Harry’s phone to him. “What are you gonna do?” he asks, sitting back down on the arm of the couch.

“You’ll see,” Harry says.

Louis leans over his shoulder, watching his fingers as they click on the Twitter app and type out a new tweet. The other two boys are silent, presumably waiting for an alert. They all have push notifications on for one another.

_@Harry_Styles: Thank you for all your support. As you know I injured my back, but I am currently doing very well, having come out of surgery a month ago._

_@Harry_Styles: I suffered a severe compression fracture in my T11 vertebrae, along with some nerve damage. Again, thank you for all your well wishes._

_@Harry_Styles: For those of you who have questioned my relevance to the band since, I am still working towards being able to perform and travel._

_@Harry_Styles: My priority right now is becoming comfortable enough in my recovery to do so. Thank you for your patience. Love you. H_

In recent years, he’s refused to use social media for anything other than promotional purposes. He feels as though it only adds to the idea of him not being a real life person, rather some kind of exaggerated and perfected entity.

He clicks the sleep button on his phone, but a mere thirty seconds later it buzzes with notifications, a few of which are from his bandmates.

_@LiamPayne: Very proud of you @Harry_Styles. You deserve the best!!! Love u mate._

_@NiallOfficial: harry’s one of a kind …. very proud of him for making the most of his recovery . love ya h ._

_@Louis_Tomlinson: It’s been a hard couple of weeks . It’s strange to see such a kind and lovely person endure this kinda trouble …._

_@Louis_Tomlinson: Goes to show it happens to even the best of us . @Harry_Styles can’t wait to see you back at it ! love you man !_

“ _Man,_ ” Harry tests the word. “Nice touch.”

Louis stifles a laugh. “Can’t exactly confess my everlasting love for you over Twitter, can I?”

“It’d be nice," Harry says. “Thank you guys for being so supportive, really means the world to me.”

A few public figures take the time to write him on twitter. It truly is nice to have unexpected support from people who can relate to his status. Most of them are his friends. Among them are Nick Grimshaw, Rita Ora, Ed Sheeran, Cara Delevingne, notably David Beckham and a few other football players who have suffered massive injuries themselves.

Even Zayn tweets him.

_@zaynmalik: @Harry_Styles gutted to hear abt what happened mate … really rooting for u to make a full recovery … ill give u a call soon bro_

Harry’s a bit taken aback, but doesn’t complain. He’s never been one for slandering another’s name. Louis, on the other hand, has no problem. Yet this time he chooses to stay silent.

To say Harry’s surprised when his phone rings later in the evening and the name ‘Zayn Malik’ flashes onto the screen would be an understatement. He didn’t expect Zayn to actually bother with ringing him - he isn’t the most reliable or confident person on the planet.

Louis stops eating his spaghetti, fork freezing midair, upon feeling Harry’s uncertainty. There’s tension present in the room. His eyes lock on Harry’s phone. “Who is it?” he asks. “Harry?”

Harry shakes his head, hits accept, and brings the cellular device to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey Harry. It’s been a long time,” Zayn says. There’s a few beats of silence. “Uhm, sorry is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it’s alright Zayn. Louis and I are just having dinner,” Harry says. It’s strange to speak to his ex-bandmate now. When he was in the band, a mere two years ago, they could hold conversation for hours. At the mention of Zayn’s name, Louis raises his eyebrows, but again doesn’t say anything, stuffing the forkful of pasta into his mouth.

“That’s nice,” Zayn quips. There’s a woman laughing in the background. Harry assumes she's Zayn’s girlfriend. “Sooo...how are you feeling?”

“Better, yeah. Still not one hundred percent, but a lot better than I was a month ago,” Harry explains, shifting on the couch. “Physical therapy helps a lot and I’ve got a brace which gives me support. Only problem is the swelling hasn’t really gone down as it should’ve.”

Zayn hesitates. “Are you gonna make a full recovery?”

“Supposedly,” Harry says.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Harry runs his tongue over his teeth. “The possibility of having chronic back pain is higher than not, so I don’t know if I’d consider it a _full_ recovery. I’ve got metal implants in my back.”

It’s quite obvious Zayn doesn’t know what to say at this point. He sighs, doubtlessly runs his hand over his beard scruff, before saying, “I’m really sorry Harry.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault,” He clears his throat. “I’m actually in my apartment here in NYC since I can’t, you know, travel for very long, so if you wanna stop by sometime, just let me know. Gigi can come too, if you want.”

“Uhm...” Zayn is at a lost for words. “Maybe. I don't know. We’re both busy.”

“Oh uh, yeah. That's okay, I understand,” Harry glances at Louis. Louis raises his eyebrows. “I should probably go. I think my dinners starting to get cold.”

“Probably, yeah.”

“Thanks for calling Zayn. Bye,” He hangs up, setting his phone to the side. He rubs his hand over his face, discouraged. “I didn’t know what else to say.”

“Obviously.”

Harry sighs. “You’re not helping the situation.”

“If your friendship is something he wants to pursue, he’ll keep in contact,” Louis admits. ”If he feels you’re not worth his time, he’ll make it obvious. It was nice of him to call, but you’ve got more important things to focus on, like getting better.”

 

 

 

 

They’re spotted for the first time in a pharmacy, nearly three months after the initial procedure. He’s off the painkillers, but they need to refill their Ibuprofen supply for the moments where his back decides to ache and throb, though not as intensely as it did at one time. He doesn’t have to wear the large brace anymore, rather he’s been demoted to one which covers only his midsection - from a few inches below his breastbone down to below his bellybutton - and firmly velcros in the front.

He has only one more doctor’s appointment and two physical therapy sessions before they’re given the approval to fly back to England. It won’t be the easiest journey given it’s Harry sitting in one position for over seven hours, but with first class, it should give him more opportunity to stand and stretch as needed.

There’s a group of three girls, presumably between the ages of eighteen and twenty, and they stop both Louis and Harry for pictures. As soon as the pictures are uploaded to Twitter later in the evening, they go viral. It’s not surprising as they’ve been in hiding for three months and the world has been in suspense waiting for sight of them, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating.

They’re not the most flattering pictures, and Harry has a problem with them circulating. “I look so fucking poorly, why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, enlarging the image with his fingers as he lays on the couch.

“You look fine Harry.”

Harry presents the picture to Louis as if he doesn’t see him every waking moment of every day. The two of them are stood on either side of one of the girls, smiles etched on their faces. Harry has his brace on - which instantly caused the internet to have a meltdown - and a box of the anti-inflammatory drug in his hand. He _is_ skinny, having lost at least twenty pounds in these last few months, and his skin is pasty, but he still looks like Harry, timelessly handsome and enchanting.

“Like I said, you look fine Harry,” Louis repeats, shaking his head at his boyfriend’s vanity.

Harry is apart of every headline the next day. The world craves adversity.

 

 

 

 

The plane ride is horrendous. Watching Harry’s inability to become comfortable and switch between sitting, standing, and pacing for hours straight is a nightmare. They have a few painkillers left from Harry’s endeavors with them. Louis settles on giving him one to help him relax.

They land at Heathrow airport and it’s total chaos. Someone must have seen them in JFK airport, asked around for information, and leaked their travel plans. It’s not uncommon, although absolutely absurd. Paparazzi and fans are everywhere, mobbing the exits. It’s hard to see anything past blinding flashes and a sea of screaming and shoving young adults.

Heathrow security knows them quite well as they’re constantly using their services. “It appears that they’re fans blocking all the exits. We have one of two options,” the head of security explains. “We can either wait for the police to clear the airport-”

“That could take hours,” Louis says.

“ _Or,_ ” The older man retorts. “We can guide you two through the crowd.”

Louis scoffs. “Are you serious? He’s just had-”

“We’ll go through the crowd,” Harry answers. “I want to go home.”

Louis stares at him in disbelief for a moment. “No,” he stops. “No, that’s not happening. You’re still recovering from intense surgery on your spine and you’re mad if you think I’m going to let you walk through that crowd.”

“I want to go home,” Harry repeats.

“The last thing you need is people with no boundaries pushing on your back,” Louis argues. “It doesn’t matter if they see your brace or not. As soon as they see _you_ , it’s going to be a frenzy.”

Harry looks to the head of security. “We’ll go through the crowd.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll call it into my guards,” The man walks away for a moment, speaking orders into his walkie-talkie.

Louis shakes his head. “You’re absolutely insane.”

There’s about seven or eight guards, all of them larger men, who come to greet them. They introduce themselves and the head guard makes it his priority - after being reprimanded by Louis - to inform them of the extent of Harry’s back injury.

Harry shifts from standing beside Louis to walking in front of him. The guards enclose them, blocking them in on all sides, like their own personal militia, though it doesn’t prove to help much once they’re actually fighting their way through the hysteria.

Paparazzi are flashing their cameras at them and shouting, all of their voices meshing together to sound like white noise, though Louis can pick a few words out. Most questions consist of _back injury, surgery, limitations, returning to stage._ He’s sure there are some invasive questions in there as well, but he can’t make enough sense of them to give a reaction, and the same goes for Harry.

The fans, on the hand, have not toned down from the last time they were in a public situation like this one. Hands are pushing security out of the way, reaching and grabbing for them. At one point. Louis feels himself being yanked backward by a hand fisting the back of his t-shirt. There’s a few times where he looks up to see hands swatting at Harry, some of them successful with touching his hair and shoulders, but there’s one particular hand in which comes seemingly out of thin air and punches him in the back.

He watches Harry stop for a moment, his hand moves to apply pressure to the area, then he continues, now walking with a more determined and quick stride. Despite being in obvious pain, the fans don’t pay any attention, or perhaps they don’t care, and continue to pull at him, shouting his name.

It’s frankly ridiculous. The whole world knows Harry was injured, yet their actions don’t show an ounce of concern for it. The media has been covering new information on him every chance they get, and still, people don’t know how to treat him as a human being. Does the persona create a gap between a real life entity and an untouchable pop star? At the end of the day, he does feel and he does hurt and Louis is tired of people treating him as though he doesn’t.

Once they’re outside, Louis paces himself to walk beside Harry as they near the taxi waiting for them. “Are you okay? I saw that one girl whacked your backside.”

Harry’s head is down, shielding his face from Louis’ gaze, and Louis wouldn’t usually think anything of it. Except, Harry sniffles.

“H,” Louis stops walking, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder to halt him as well. “Harry, are you okay?”

The younger boy wipes his eyes, nodding his head. “Hasn’t hurt that bad for a while. Wasn’t expecting it.”

Louis touches his face, wiping a reminiscent tear off his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “But you’re okay?”

“Fine,” Harry puts on one of the worst fake smiles Louis has ever seen. “Just wish people wouldn’t treat us like animals.”

“Me too, love,” Louis tucks his hair behind his ear. “Me too.”

 

 

 

 

“Gooood morning One Direction!” Nick Grimshaw exults into his microphone.

It’s their first interview - and public outing all together - since Harry’s injury. They’re sitting inside BBC Radio 1’s studio, Nick Grimshaw sat opposite of them, smiling wide at them, in particular Harry. They wanted to pick up somewhere comfortable, and since Nick has been a friend to the boys for years - an especially close friend to Harry - it was an easy decision.

They all chime in, speaking over one another as always, with different versions of “good morning”.

Nick laughs. “I don’t think you’ve ever been in the studio all at once, have you?”

“It’s a lot more cramped than I bargained for,” Liam admits. “And I thought squeezing onto all them couches was bad.”

“I apologize, we’re on a budget. Not all of us can be young multi-millionaires, Liam,” Nick kids, sounding genuinely amused. “How have the last few months treated you? It’s been boring without you. I interviewed Ed yesterday for the _fifth_ time in three months.”

“Ooh, that’s rough,” Niall says. “We’ve just been enjoying our break. It was unplanned, so none of us really had anything set. But it was nice going home and seeing our families. I missed my granny’s cabbage and mash.”

Louis leans forward to speak into his mic. “It’s definitely a bit strange to be out of the spotlight, but you get the chance to do simple things, like...going to the grocery store, without people jumping down your throat.”

“I wouldn’t know," Nick replies, sarcastically. “I’m so busy around these parts. I never catch a break.”

All of them laugh, except Louis who merely hums. He and Nick have never been on the best of terms. It’s always been a matter of jealousy regarding Harry keeping them away from a potential friendship, and anyways Louis finds Nick to be a pompous twat, but he would never tell Harry that.

“Harold,” Nick says, pitching his voice an octave or two higher.

Harry matches his pitch. “Nicholas.”

“How are we feeling?” Nick asks. “How’s your back treating you?”

“A lot better, thanks. I’ve still got some limitations and whatnot, but uh...yeah, I feel a lot better,” Harry says.

“Good to hear,” Nick beams. “How much longer until you’re considered fully healed?”

“The procedure I had done was called a spinal fusion, and they expect it to be about a year from the surgery before my recovery is complete.”

“A year?” Nick raises his eyebrows. He’s spoken to Harry in regards to his injury a few times, but never had they discussed how extensive the procedure was.

“Yeah, it’s a rather intense surgery,” Harry replies, almost apathetically. “They took a piece of bone from my pelvis and put it between my T11 and T12 vertebrae to fuse them together, which is like,” Harry maps out his back, fingers prodding down his spinal cord until he slides his hand across the brace and comes to a gentle stop in the center of it, “here.”

“For benefit of the radio, Harry is touching his lower back,” Niall says.

“Oh right, I forgot they can’t see me,” Harry flushes, feeling a bit silly. “Anyways, then I’ve got rods and plates in there that are meant to keep it from moving while it continues to heal.”

Nick’s jaw falls slack. “There you have it, ladies and gents. Harry Styles can never do anything the easy way.”

“Enough about me,” Harry chuckles. ”The press is already thriving with new information.”

“Right, I’m sure. How about the rest of you? How does someone in your position cope with your bandmate and friend suffering a massive injury and then undergoing an intense procedure?”

“Nick,” Harry sighs. He hates to make this interview about himself, but it’s what the general public wants. They want to hear all the invasive and interesting details about one of the biggest musical acts in the world in the face of tragedy.

“I don’t think any of us expected it,” Liam says. “It’s been an _interesting_ few months.”

“But isn’t it, I don’t know, humbling? In a strange sort of way?” Nick asks. “Doesn’t it makes you feel that just because you’re successful and wealthy, it doesn’t mean you’re invincible?”

“Invincible? Are we superheros now?” Niall laughs, adjusting his headset. “I call being Captain America.”

“I think that’s a shitty- sorry, sorry- _crappy_ way to look at it, if I’m being honest,” Louis challenges. “Because if there was a reason for it happening, I don’t think it would have been something as intense as this. None of us, especially Harry, have ever gone around parading our wealth or reputations, so to think there was an end goal, some kind of life lesson, to Harry breaking his back, is quite frankly a bit silly.”  

Liam thinks about Louis’ words for a moment, agreeing with him. “Yeah, you’re right. It is a bit silly.”

“I don’t think it’s something that needs to be glorified either,” Louis retorts, sitting up straight in his seat. “Every person involved in the press and media has turned a serious subject into profit. How is that okay? More importantly, how is that allowed? I get that we’re popstars and people are enthralled with us, but the lack of respect and privacy is absolutely mind boggling to me. It wasn’t a broken toe or a broken hand or even a broken leg, he broke his back and people treat it as a bloody comedy act.”

Nobody bothers to interrupt him. Harry intently listens, watching him with curious eyes. Louis never once attempted to give his opinion about any of this the last several months.

He imagines the BBC Radio 1 listening audience is increasing by the second.

“How so, Tomlinson?” Nick asks.

“Trying to get him through the airport was absolutely absurd. People have no boundaries,” Louis points out. “He was clearly wearing a brace, it had been all over the news, and people still don’t have the common decency to clear out of his way. I don’t get it, really I don’t. It’s honestly quite baffling to me, so no, none of this experience has been humbling.”

“Do you agree Harry?” Nick asks.

Harry hesitates. He doesn’t want to bad mouth anyone. “I mean to a certain point, yeah. Like, honestly, I stayed off social media for months because I didn’t want anyone interpreting anything the wrong way or trying to find my location. For about the first six weeks, I was in so much pain. I couldn’t move certain ways and it hurt to do anything and I was so paranoid of being... _found_ , essentially.”

“Yeah, I remember flying out to New York to see you that first week,” Nick says. “You had that huge brace on and couldn’t hardly walk from the couch to the kitchen table. I actually felt bad for you, and we both know what a rarity that is, popstar.”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, but you know what? I’d honestly like to move on from these past months. They were one of the worst times in my life, and I don’t think dwelling on them is important anymore. We’re here to make music and bring smiles to people’s faces.”

“Harry’s right,” Niall says. “I think, if anything, these last months have made us really excited to get back in the studio and write.”

They start to drift away from topics concerning Harry’s injury and recovery, which they’re all thankful for, and Nick asks them about their future plans and plays videos questions from their fans.

“Thanks for being on the show. It was great having you, and we’ll see you soon,” Nick concludes the interview.

“Thank _you_ for having us,” Harry replies.

They all proceed to slide their headphones off, setting them on the tabletop. Nick come around, giving each of them a hug and thanking them personally. He’s more gentle with Harry.

As they exit BBC 1 studios, a plethora of fans wait outside for them, chanting their names and waving posters and other novelty items in the air, waiting to be signed. They stop at the top of the stairs, observing all of these gorgeous faces who have traveled far and near to get a glimpse of them.

Louis puts a hand on Harry’s upper back. “Let’s be careful walking down the steps this time, eh? One step at a time.” He’s half joking. The last thing he wants to witness is Harry taking another tumble.

Harry turns his head to look at him and laughs. “I’ll certainly try.”

Louis grins, watching Harry as he walks down the steps with ease, one after another until he’s reached the bottom.

Maybe the most important lesson from these last few months is the one taught to Harry about being cautious when walking down stairs.

Or, maybe it’s when he doesn’t have the physical strength to support himself, Louis, his friends, and the fans will be behind him, holding him upright again.

**Author's Note:**

> you reached the end! congratulations. as always thank you for kudos, hits, bookmarks, recs, comments, all that jazz. have a great day/night! huge love and cheers. emily.x
> 
> i hope you enjoyed the story!
> 
> feel free to comment below or on my [tumblr](troubleistheonlywaydown.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> also, feel free to give me a follow on twitter @terrestrialhaz (we can be super cool mutuals!)


End file.
